


Flechazo

by orphan_account



Series: Insatiable [3]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Anxiety, Attempt at Humor, Banter, Bathing/Washing, Blowjobs, Claude basically going 'oh no thats hot' and realizing he's a sub, Claude-centric, Communication, Cunnilingus, F/M, Femdom, Finger Sucking, First Time, Gentle femdom, Getting Together, Hair-pulling, Intrusive Thoughts, Now it's claude going 'oh no that's hot' and having an existential crisis, Pining, Post-Time Skip, Reverse Mating Press, Subdrop, Tenderness, Vaginal Sex, Virgin sex, Woman on Top, boy howdy is there angst in the second chapter, first time cunnilingus, in the third chapter, me cackling at my screen: cry pretty boy CRYYYYY, me: i would die for you claude but i also want to step on you uwu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-08-14 01:53:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 33,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20184295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: In which Claude pines, his fellow Deer give him (un)helpful advice, confessions are made and revelations are discovered.Update on 8/26/2019 - Now with a third chapter!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You could call this... softer than the other two, I guess? It's not overtly kinky, at least not to me. Also don't ask me when or where this is set in lmao, cause I don't know either.
> 
> Flechazo is a Spanish term which is the "Feeling that you've been struck by Cupid's arrow."

Five years. She had been gone five years. And _ then _ she just… waltzes back into his life looking the same as she always did, minus the new eye and hair colour. 

He _ thinks _he should be angry with her. Blame her for… something. Blame for the years of isolation and hardship he’s, no, everyone’s, endured. But he can’t. No one can. Her return was met with tears and hugs that he felt like would last for a lifetime. Byleth had taken the time to speak with every one of her past students at length, remarking how they’re grown and improved since she’s last seen them. 

Claude didn’t stay for the pleasantries, slinking away to walk down some decrepit pathway. He had to think. Ruminate. Let his mind catch with the overwhelming feelings he was experiencing. 

When she had been gone, he spent much of the little privacy he had during those five years daydreaming about if things were different. If she didn’t vanish, if he might have… confessed to her earlier. Reveal his little schoolboy crush. Would anything have changed? Maybe he wouldn’t feel the unbearable void in his chest. He missed her tea parties greatly. When she vanished he realized how much he took them for granted. They provided a sense of normalcy and routine that was missing now, and it made him so, so restless.

During particularly lonely, and loathsome, evenings he often found his hand his drifting to his crotch without his consent. He had imbibed in physically pleasuring himself quite often in his school years. He had figured it was healthy for young boy on the cusp of manhood to be interested in the opposite sex. Except his fantasies were solely related to Byleth. He then figured it was because she must have been exactly what he thought was attractive in a woman. Muscular, he often sound himself looking at her legs during lectures. Smart, she could give him a run for his money when it came to scheming. Well-proportioned, she had the largest bust out of any of the girls in his class. When Sylvain had coyly asked if he was an ass or boob man, he answered that he was more interested in breasts. Not that he didn’t stare at her rear whenever he got the chance… 

Just a boy with a healthy interest in women. Not any particular woman, yeah.

Now, he stopped bullshitting himself. But whenever he thought about pleasuring himself he felt profoundly guilty. He would try to imagine some vague, featureless woman. But it always formed into Byleth. He eventually stopped trying to avoid his thoughts of her.

He was infinitely thankful when his wyvern, Pruina, had begun to accompany him whenever he was in a self-deprecating mood. She was white as snow and as fierce as a blizzard. But she was gentle as the first drops of snowflakes when she nuzzles him. He had cried into her wings during many nights, her cold scales providing a weird sense of comfort. She felt like a shield, providing him strength and protection in moments of weakness. And he had many moments of weakness.

The sun was setting, tinging the sky in a light pink colour. The lands may be scorches and barren from innumerably battles that have been waged by now, but at least the heavens still seemed untouched. It had yet to be desecrated. Tonight, it was Petra’s turn to what everyone simply called ‘The Chat.’ A full night of catching up. Byleth had been delighted to learn that Petra had mastered the Fódlan language, knowing how frustrated Petra would be whenever she couldn’t properly express herself because of fumbled words. She became even more delighted learning it was Marianne who had mostly taught Petra, and that the healer had built up some confidence in herself.

Claude found he had started avoiding Byleth soon after she returned. Didn’t speak with her more than was absolutely necessary, and often avoid looking directly at her. It didn’t stop him from basically fighting her battles for her with how close he would tail her. Nor did it stop him from staring at her when he thought he wasn't being looked at, keeping his eyes on her as if she was going to disappear from under their noses again.

He kicks a rock when walking down a road surrounded by broken houses having successfully slithered away before Byleth noticed him. He mostly just wants to sleep in a haystack with Pruina. He finds that dirty and abandoned barns are fast becoming his preferred beds to sleep in.

He feels something hit the back of his head.

He looks down to see it’s a twig. He turns to see the culprit. Her flurry of pink hair makes her stick out like a sore thumb. He can take a guess what she’ll scold him about, so he tries putting up a nonchalant facade.

“Hey, Hilda, out for a midnight stroll? I know what you want to say so don’t bother. You want me to speak with Teach. That’s a bit ironic, shouldn’t you speak with her too then?” His smile is fake and he's sure that's painfully obvious, but he hopes Hilda won't be able to read him anyway.

The pout that was on her face fades. It’s replaced by a somber look. He decides that expression doesn’t fit her at all. 

Hilda stomps on her foot, “And if you didn’t spend all day every day daydreaming, you’d know I was one of the first to speak with her. Get it together.” 

He continues smiling, somehow he feels as though it's making his face even more tired than it already is, “I see you’ve been little miss diligent. Good work.”

“And _ you’re _changing the subject! I may not be able to read people like you, but I know your smile is fake.” He drops his grin when he hears that, figuring there's no point in keeping the pretense. Her tone becomes softer, almost a whisper. “Where’s that wisecrack I know so well? I bet Teach misses him too.”

He lowers his eyes to stare at the ground, shifting on his feet uncomfortably, “That’s a low blow.” There’s no spark in his voice. Rather it’s a murmur, and he speaks with a tone of a man that’s been beaten down and has given up. 

He hears footsteps approaching him and he can’t find the energy to just tell her to go away. But he _does_ briefly entertain the idea of whistling for Pruina so she can whisk him away, however.

He hears her perky voice again, and she invades his field of vision when she bends down to intentionally look him in the eye, “You know what I think? I think you should hurry up and confess to her already. It’ll put a kick back into your step, I know it will! We’ll help you with it too!”

_ We’ll _?

He must have said that part out loud, because next she’s beaming at him and telling him that she’s apparently enlisted the help of Sylvain, Lorenz, and Ignatz. 

“They’ll help you, they’re the three most romantic guys around!” She sounds positively gleeful about that, and she stop bending down to lift her arms up enthusiastically; like a child who had been sweets from their usually stern parent.

He can’t help but snort at that. This is an utterly terrible idea. 

But he sees that Hilda has brought her oversized axe, and he’s pretty sure she’ll threaten him if he declines.

So he makes a tactical decision and accepts. He'll make sure to be a wisecrack for his three new mentors.

-

The next day he’s instantly regretting his decision when Sylvain finds him in the barn with Pruina.

And he’s been talking his ear off for at least an hour.

“You gotta be confident. Ladies love a confident man, but I know you’re plenty confident when you’re not in the middle of having a pity party — hey, don’t look at me like that — Just, ya know, get in there! Don’t even say anything, kiss her! Let your lips do the talking!” Sylvain makes wild hand gestures as if they mean anything, and he speak quickly like an excitable toddler.

What profoundly unhelpful advice. 

He says as much, and Sylvain reels back like he’s been shot with an arrow. But he recovers and leans in to continue his tirade.

Sylvain narrows his eyes and points at Claude sharply, “My lord! You’re killing me! Here I am trying to help, volunteering my time to get you off your sad ass when I could be picking up women!”

Claude ignores him and continues patting Pruina, the wyvern giving him a pleased bellow. 

Sylvain, undeterred, leans in even further. He puts his arm around Claude’s shoulder like he’s about to let out a juicy secret, “You know what I can help with? Telling you how to please a woman in bed.” He waggles his eyebrows and gives a lopsided grin. “Be assertive. Let her know who’s boss.” He makes a vague hand gesture. “Be an _ alpha.” _

“Big words coming from a virgin,” Claude scoffs.

This time Sylvain reels back as if he’s been hit by a speeding cannonball, and Claude absentmindedly counts the hay that jumps in the air from Sylvain's erratic movements. The former Blue Lions student then splutters over his words. 

“Y-You—!! You demon! You absolute cur!” With a face redder than his hair, Sylvain stands and leaves. 

Claude merely shrugs, “Bye, man. Thanks for coming, you can join my pity party later. It’ll be a blast.”

Just when Claude thinks he’s found some peace and quiet, Sylvain comes back and throws a book in his face before leaving again. Looking at it, it’s some cheap poorly written erotica.

The man can charm women with his personality well enough, but when it comes to sex — it’s no wonder he can’t get past a kiss.

He thinks that, but tries to ignore the fact that he has a stash of erotica of his own hidden in his room back home. He justifies it by thinking his erotica is much _ classier _than Sylvain’s.

-

Next, he’s accosted by Lorenz in the kitchen of a destroyed home they were looking for supplies in.

He was surprised that Lorenz apparently agreed to help Claude with his love troubles, considering the man has mostly spewed vitriol his way in the past, but he supposes Lorenz is a hopeless romantic at heart.

“As a man of great title, you should take her out to dine so you can get to know her better.” He had snobbishly said while patting his rose for some reason.

Claude kicks at some debris, “Hello to you too, Lorenz. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but we’re talking about Teach. You remember her right? She was with us for the school year. I like to think I know her fairly well.”

Lorenz bends down to pick up what looks like canned meat before pointing at Claude with it.

“Ah, ah, ah! Claude, my boy. Wooing a woman is a long and laborious process. You must pursue her relentlessly, give her continuous requests for dinner — in a manner befitting a gentleman, of course. Ladies are delicate, you should treat them as such. I know with _ your _upbringing that may be hard to understand.”

It is at this point Claude thinks that Lorenz might be hearing impaired. He doesn’t hate Lorenz, not really. And if anything he’s mellowed out over the years. Despite the fact he’s telling him to pursue Byleth like his life depends on it, Lorenz has mostly stopped harassing the women in the army. He even overheard him speaking with Byleth about that, and has even apologized for his past acts. 

But Claude knows old habits die hard. Maybe this is just… remnants of the old Lorenz he’s speaking with. 

Which would mean his advice is even more useless than he thought.

And he decides to bring up that very fact, “Didn’t Teach… tell you the exact opposite of this? Weren’t you in trouble in school for this exact same thing?” Claude rummages through an old cupboard, rather than food he sees memorabilia. Drawings done by a young hand, if he’s looking it right it looks like a flock of wyverns descending on a sheep. Next he finds a small, painted portrait of the family. Both the parents were in armor and there’s three children. If Claude had to take a guess he’d say both mom and dad joined the war effort and left the eldest son, who looks 15 or so, to take care of his younger siblings, a girl and a boy.

Feeling like he’s seeing something he’s not supposed to, Claude closes the closet. 

He feels a flick at his hair.

Turning around, he sees Lorenz giving him a disapproving look.

“And as a noble, you must have the highest standards for appearance.”

Did this guy just diss his hairstyle?

_ That’s rich coming from a guy who had... Whatever hairstyle he had during the school year. Maybe the reason he was denied by women was because his hair was an anti-woman fortress. _

He waves at Lorenz after giving him an unimpressed look, and continues searching for supplies, “You’re a bad influence, Professor Lorenz. When teacher evaluations roll around, I’ll give you an F for mentorship.”

-

Ignatz, for his part, seems nervous about this. Claude had been trying to write reports in a study of another home that was miraculously not yet reduced into rubble. A large mansion, obviously once owned by a noble that wanted to flaunt their wealth. It was as if the owners had vanished into midair, as everything looked immaculate. Apparently there were remnants of a dinner on the dining room table before Raphael ate it. Claude and his troops had made the building their impromptu base of operations for the time being.

The study that Claude had taken residence in had all the supplies he needed. He wanted to write a report, something about the day’s battle with a small contingent of Imperial soldiers that were quickly dispatched of. Instead Claude found himself inattentively drawing circles with a quill he didn’t own.

He hears a creak followed by lots of rustling. 

“S-Surely he’s busy, Hilda, we shouldn’t inter—”

The doors blast wide open, and Claude watches as Ignatz is thrown in and the familiar flurry of pink hair disappears as the doors are slammed shut. 

He twirls the quill in his hand as he watches Ignatz try to recompose himself. He almost feels bad for finding the spectacle amusing.

The artist brushes himself off, and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a finger, “...My lord.”

Claude smirks, “Ignatz.”

Ignatz pulls a chair to sit in front of Claude’s desk, and Claude inwardly thanks whatever goddess may be around that Ignatz doesn’t immediately start talking about how to pick up women. Sure, he’s an artist, but he isn’t sure Ignatz is much of a romantic; though he’s certainly a romantic for a goddess if he remembers the conversations he had with him back in their school years correctly.

Ignatz, saint that he is, actually helps Claude with report writing first before doing what Hilda sent him to do, though he's obviously still nervous about approaching the subject.

He twiddles with his fingers to to probably distract himself, “Every woman is different Claude. But most of all, Professor is just a person. She’s human like the rest of us, sure she has… _inhuman_ powers but she’s… a person.”

Claude dramatically flicks his wrist as he finishes writing something. “I would have thought that an artist would be better with his words. Aren’t you guys usually... prose-y? Poetic?”

Ignatz sighs just as dramatically, “Okay, now, I read this somewhere but, uh. Please don’t laugh. I know you’re going to laugh. _ Buuut—” _

“Gee, Ignatz. It can’t have been that important if you can’t remember it,” Claude likes Ignatz. In fact he considers the man one of his closest friends, but recently he finds that his patience is not what it used to be.

The artist rolls his eyes. 

“Claude, please! Don’t put words into my mouth." He pushes his glasses up his nose again, before putting his elbows on the desk, "I read… I read a passage that I think will work for you. It said ‘all women are goddesses’ so, uh, hey! Stop laughing!”

Claude gives him a big, bellowing laugh. It’s the most genuine emotion he’s felt in a long time. It feels so refreshing, almost as if he can forget all his and the world's troubles for a split-second.

“Yeah, Ignatz, and I read that all women are queens. Byleth was just a ‘person’ a moment ago and now she’s a goddess! That’s quite the fast promotion you gave her. Sure you’re not crushing on her?” He mocks as he points his quill at Ignatz.

Ignatz pushes his glasses even further up his nose and Claude thinks the young man might be endanger of permanently embedding his spectacles in his face, “I just think it’s a good term to ruminate over. Just think about it, everyone worships Sothis in their own way, or any other deity. They do whatever is comfortable for them. Just… Do whatever you’re comfortable with.” 

Claude stops laughing and blinks. He genuinely wasn’t expecting that. He thought Ignatz would say something about revering her, or something overly romantic. Leave it to him to get a completely different message out of the saying. This piece of advice almost feels… nice, in a way. It’s so sickenly simple. But also incredibly vague. What _ is _Claude comfortable with? He’s not even sure himself. 

He’d always weave pretty words to try to appeal to other people. To get what _ they _wanted out of him so he could use them. It never really mattered what Claude was comfortable about.

He bids Ignatz good night when he leaves. He leans back in his chair and sighs.

“What I’m comfortable with, huh,” he says to himself while staring at the ceiling. 

He thinks about that for a long time.

-

The next evening Claude retreats to where Pruina and the other wyverns are being held. They’re being kept in the massive garden that’s just behind the mansion. Whoever this estate belonged to was clearly fond of taking care of exotic flowers. It’s such a ..._loud _garden, as one is immediately assaulted with a cacophony of colours when stepping inside it. Lysithea had been delighted and searched high and low for anything that could be used as poison, while Marianne searched for anything medicinal. Claude internally reminds himself he should help Lysithea with searching for deadly plants. Perhaps making poison like he did in his youth will prove to be a useful distraction. And just useful for the war in general.

Claude almost feels bad that this beauty will soon wither and die away with no one to care for it.

He scratches the underside of Pruina, the wyvern almost looks as though she's smiling when she rubs her face against Claude's. 

“Oh, girl," He says after she gives him a long, affection lick to the face, "What do you think I should do, huh?”

She gives him an inquisitive look, and nuzzles his hand with her nose. She huffs when he doesn’t immediately begin petting, but then gives a pleased noise when he does. 

“Yeah? Think I should ask for a petting?” 

That… doesn’t sound too bad, but he’s not about to actually ask for it, not yet anyway. Though, the thought of him just walking over to Byleth after avoiding her for weeks and asking her to pet him makes him give a huff of laughter. 

“She’d probably kill me, girl. You trying to get rid of your master? Am I not giving you enough lamb meat?” He gives a few pats on her neck and wipes the wyvern saliva off his face with the back of his free hand.

There’s a sudden shuffle behind him and he hears a potted plant crash on the floor before hearing someone curse loudly. These frantic footsteps and decidedly not very diligent movements are becoming almost a daily routine for him.

“Claude! Claude, Claude, Claude!” Leave it to Hilda to actually put time and effort of this scheme of hers, rather than actually using the energy into training. He actually feels kinda impressed.

But… It is something she’s doing for _ him _ rather than herself. She’s become significantly less selfish in that regard. He almost feels bad about being rude with Sylvain, Lorenz and Ignatz. And not just them, either, he knows everyone wants to to help them but in their own way. Raphael has been personally cooking him phenomenal meals ever since Claude stopped showing up to meal times. Marianne has given him herbs to help with sleeping for his bouts of insomnia. Lysithea had managed to find him a copy of one of his favourite novels somewhere in the rubble while Petra has somehow procured Almyran pine needle tea. Leonie gives him a proper tongue lashing during sparring to keep him on his toes, and distracted from his current woes.

He’s taken their efforts for granted and the pit in his stomach grows harder to notice. Once this is all over, he’ll have to make it up to each and every single one of them.

He turns to see his matchmaker heaving hard, dry breaths. Pruina tilts her head at the display, and Claude says, “Hilda. You know when I think of an early bird I don’t really think of you.”

She ignores him and instead heaves a couple of more heavy breaths before saying, “Byleth! Professor! She — she wants to speak with you.” 

His stomach immediately does a flip but he tries to keep a cool expression. He’d know it would happen soon enough. Her wanting to have The Chat with him. Although, it could be Hilda is lying and scheming to simply get the two of them alone. Would be far from the first time she’s done this.

But he can tell she’s telling the truth. He knows Byleth has finished catching up everyone else. 

Hilda makes frantic hand gestures that Claude isn’t sure mean anything. “She’s just outside that broken down cafe. She’s sitting at one of the tables!”

He quirks an eyebrow. “My, sounds like she’s asking me out for dinner.” He pats on Pruina’s neck, “Be a good girl and behave, yeah?” She gives him another bellow. 

He nods at Hilda as he begins leaving the oversized garden, but stops momentarily to look at a bed of flowers. 

_ Women dig flowers, don’t they? _

He doesn’t think twice when he picks an entire stem of purple heliotropes.

-

The cafe is in shambles, but the outer tables and chairs are still there. What’s left of them, anyway. She’s set up a tea party, because _ of course _she has. The glasses are chipped, and the scenery is gods-awful since it’s just rubble of a destroyed town. But his heart flutters. His breath hitches. Keeping his expression nonchalant is starting to become difficult.

He seats himself directly in front of her. 

“Interesting spot for tea party, Teach. I think your dinner party planning needs work.” He gingerly places the heliotropes in an empty vase on the table. “There you go. Feels a lot more comely now, huh?” The sun is slowly beginning to set, while the immediate scenery might be sad to look at, at least the sky still looks beautiful.

She pours him some tea. It’s Almyran pine needle. Where does she and Petra keep finding this stuff?

He takes a sip and realizes his throat had become dry. He tries to ignore it, forcing it back into the dark recesses of his mind. 

She sits her tea, holding it carefully so it doesn't shatter at the slightest pressure, “You don’t need to call me Teach, you know. I’m not your professor anymore.”

She’s monotone and he hates it. Hates himself even more since the time he's spent avoiding her is the likely cause of it. 

“I—” His voice is soft, sad like someone mourning the death of a loved one. He clears his throat and tries again. “But I want to. Only feels right, I’m still learning afterall.” Now he just sounds detached. _Big fucking improvement there, Claude._

She studies his face for a moment. She’s not giving anything to read on her expression

“I miss your braid,” she says simply after looking at him for a good 30 seconds.

Suddenly, he feels a spark of anger — his heart rate increases, his throat even drier than before, he clenches his hand around his cup it and thinks he might break it. 

“...Yeah?” His voice is tight, “And I’ve missed you. We’ve all had. That was a five long years, Teach.” He was looking intently at the vase of heliotropes when he said that, feeling suddenly stupid about bringing flowers.

So much for being detached and nonchalant.

When he finally does look at her, her expression softens and Claude can see the regret on her face. He doesn't think he's seen look so genuinely upset before. The knot in his stomach tightens itself.

“I’m sorry.” It’s almost a whisper and Claude wants to kick himself for losing his temper. “I’m so sorry, please know I would never leave you all willingly.”

Claude closes his eyes, sighs through his nose and then slumps on his chair. “Yeah. I know. Sorry.” He drinks his tea, not wanting to cause more tension. Though this conversation is really going nowhere.

They sit there, not saying anything. Neither of them wanting to break the fragile silence. They drink their tea, getting used to each other’s presence again.

Claude notices Byleth take a glance at the flowers he brought. He doubts she’s familiar with the language of flowers. She’s never been that knowledgeable on many topics despite being a Professor, considering he had to teach her about the Church of Seiros of all things. 

He breathes in heavily again and taps his fingers against the arm rest. 

_ It’s now or never. Come on. Get off your pitiable ass and do something._

Before he can properly muster up the courage to spew out his _ totally-not-practiced-declaration-of-love-speech _he sees a sudden flash of red hair. Quickly glancing beyond Byleth he see… Sylvain? Hiding behind some rubble just some yards away? The man peeks out of his hiding spot to give an ‘okay’ sign with his hand.

“What the fuck?” Claude rasps. 

She gives him a quizzical look and he quickly tries to recover. 

“I-I mean, what the fuck!” He keeps his tone jovial, light, “Look at us, just sitting around and drinking tea. Haha! Sure brings back memories huh?” 

_ What is he doing here? Is he trying to get back at me? I can’t let Byleth see him, he’s going to ruin the damn moment! _Not that there was much of a moment to be had, but Claude astutely ignores that fact.

She smiles, ever so slightly. “Yes, it does. I hope we’re able to enjoy ourselves when... Everything is over.”

Claude swallows, he only now notices the sweat forming on his palms. _ Keep it cool and collected, man. _

“Look, Teach. I’m sorry about avoiding you for so long... That wasn’t fair of me. Your friendship means a lot to me and” — He chances a quick glance to where Sylvain is and sees the man giving him a thumbs up — “_Stop!” _

Quickly placing his gaze back on Byleth and she looks at him like he’s grown a second head. Before she can say anything he quickly continues. 

“Your…. Your friendship means a lot and stops me from doing anything reckless — because I don’t want to make you worry. It… It grounds me, thank you.” 

She blinks at him, and her smile grows a bit bigger.

_ Going good. Going swell. _

He swallows and takes a deep breath, “I… Hope I can be someone you can lean on. I really do care for you a-alot. And once the Imperials,” He looks over to Sylvain again to make sure the idiot won’t do anything. He’s blowing kisses at him with a shit eating grin, “_get out of here!” _he suddenly yells, Claude was in the middle of doing a full arm point towards Sylvain but quickly thinks against it, the resulting action leading him to awkwardly flop his arm across the table. The cups and vase make a small jump. He tries to give Byleth a toothy grin, his forehead starting to become slicked with sweat. “When the Imperial army gets out of here, I was hoping we… we could—”

Before he could finish a very stunned and very confused Byleth begins turning her head to see what’s behind her, no doubt curious about what has flustered Claude.

Without thinking twice about it, Claude suddenly stands up which causes his chair to violently fall to the floor. In a split second, he leans in and cradles Byleth’s face his both his hands to prevent her from turning around.

_ “Ireallyreallyreallyloveyou. _”

She looks at him with that infuriating gaze of confusion.

“What?” Is all she has to say.

_ Fuck! Shit! Goddammit! The one time I confess and I say it so fast she doesn’t hear me! If there is a goddess she must hate me! _

He breathes through his nose and tries to calm his rapid heartbeat. For some reason, he thinks back to what Ignatz has told him.

_ Do what makes you comfortable. _

For a man with a reputation of having a silver tongue, his words are failing him an awful lot recently. Sure, he’s good with manipulation, but honesty is an entirely different beast. He never put much stock in words anyway, as from experience he knows they can be easily twisted. As far as he considered, body language was the only language that didn't lie.

Byleth had always talked more with her sword than words, maybe he should use his actions and body to tell her how he feels. 

_Just like Sylvain said. _He thinks glumly. _Whatever. I'll just... mix Ignatz's and Sylvain's advice together, I guess._

He sighs again and lets his hands fall from her cheek. 

“Teach. How about we go to the study in that big, pompous mansion, yeah?” 

She nods, her voice almost tinged with… humour? “...Sure, if that will make you… feel better.”

He doesn’t spare Sylvain another glance but rather turns around and starts walking with more haste than he’d like to admit. 

The walk is thankfully not as awkward as he thought. Somehow the town was even more dead — because he couldn’t see any of his fellow Deer _ anywhere. _Had they all made themselves scarce to make them alone, save for that idiot Sylvain? If anything he had to give props for them for planning a mass disappearance. Byleth didn’t seem bothered by it. He kept trying to sneak glances at her every now and then before they reached their destination. She looks ahead, her face calm and collected now. But he can see the beginnings of a small grin with her quirked lips.

He _ really _likes looking at her face. He could look at her all day.

Reaching the mansion, they wordlessly walk up the stairs. Closing the door to the study, Byleth finally speaks again, “So…” there’s a hint of humour again, “want to tell me what’s going on?”

He turns to face her. “Nah, I don’t think I will. Rather, shall we dance?” He gives her outstretched hand, with a smile and a wink. 

She blinks, genuinely surprised, “Really? A dance? Right now?”

He beckons her with his fingers and keeps his voice steady and jovial, “We’ve had tea together, now we dance! I’ll have you know I’ve improved immensely since the Annual Ball.” 

She gives him a coy look, almost a look that tells him she knows _ exactly _what’s been going on. It makes his heart skip a beat but when she takes his hand he continues unabated. 

He leads to the middle of the room, and makes a mental note to not twirl too much lest he wants to walk into the desk and the chair Ignatz left. 

When they started moving, his jitters melted away and he begins to sway in the rhythm of music that doesn’t exist. She feels right in his arms and he didn’t want to let her go. His hand greedily feels the curve of her slim waist and her hand grips his shoulder hard enough he thinks he might bruise. The steps between them felt like sighs slipping against a silken pillow, and then it felt as if they were gliding on water.

When he had first danced with her, he missed cues and stepped on her toes. Now, his leg traces a curve with skill that he likes to think no one can surpass. She matches and even surpasses some of his own steps. He quirks an impressed brow, his gaze heated.

He wasn’t the only one who took lessons. Perhaps she was in dance school for the past five years.

She matches his heated gaze with one that is equally as hot and fierce, like a temptress.

Claude’s breathes, short and trembling, brushed against her hair. He quickly moves a foot backwards in a smooth motion, hearing the floor creak as he slid across the slick floor. She, in turn, slides her foot to follow his, like a fox hunting a rabbit. Dipping forward, their lips threaten to touch until he pushed her away suddenly, but still held his hand tightly in hers. Then, just as quickly he pulled her in a taut and spinning motion. Then he reeled her back in, she fell into him, and his arms wrap onto her tightly as if she’ll break like glass if he let her go.

They stand there, panting as if they had ran a mile. He feels almost dizzy. As the adrenaline rush starts to fade away, he pulls her away and speaks to her in a breathy voice.

“...I hope that got the message across,” He wipes a sweaty brow with his hand.

He can hear her breath hitch, “I love you, Claude von Riegen.” She then quickly closes her mouth with an audible _ click_ and her hand covers her mouth_. _She looks just as surprised as he feels. 

He barks out a laugh and pulls her back into another embrace. “The feeling is mutual, Teach.” 

He hears a small and short gasp as fingers begin to slither up his back. The sensation gives him goosebumps. Once they pull away from one another again, one of her hands reaches up to trace what little beard he has. 

“Can I kiss you?” She looks almost... needy.

“Do you even have to ask?” He said, gaze lidded. He cups her face with his own hand and they inch closer together. When their lips touch, he feels a sudden spark of electricity run throughout his body and he thinks he might faint.

At first, it’s just their lips touching, but Byleth soon teases his mouth with her tongue. He obediently opens up for her and he feels her consume him. All passion and intensity. He feels her other hand slowly makes its way from her chest, to his collarbone, to his throat, and then to the back of his head. 

When they part, he feels the adrenaline rush he felt from the dance come back in full force. 

“How was that?” She asks, eyes narrowed but looking gleeful.

He shrugs, “Don’t know. Think I’ll have to have another try.” He winks.

She gives him a wink back, “I think I can oblige,” her voice is filled with mirth. He feels like he's floating on a cloud when he hears it.

They kiss again, but with twice the passion and intensity. It’s much sloppier, with much more tongue, and Byleth forces him to take a few steps backs when pushes him into him. Releasing his mouth she gives him a coy smile. “And how was that?”

He swallows heavily, his voice raspy. “G-Great.”

She’s staring at him like a hungry lioness. He’s sure he’s looking at her the same way. From the tension and heavy breathing, he knows that she wants… more. He definitely wants more too. But a spark of hesitance and fear hits him.

For as much as he joked about Sylvain being a virgin, the irony is not lost on him. He had… never had the time to know the pleasure of the embrace of a woman. Growing up being discriminated for this mixed heritage had never really lent itself to moments of intimacy. Suddenly becoming a noble hadn’t allowed for it either, he was able to charm women, and men, with his words but he never had to actually sleep with anyone to gain favours. In fact, that was something he actively avoided. Now, with a war, it was the last thing on his mind, unless he was pleasuring himself with thoughts of Byleth. Clearly, many of his comrades didn’t think the same as he, as a good chunk of them didn’t seem to grasp the concept of _ quietness, _subjecting him to many… noises in the dead hours of the evening. But that's another topic for another time.

She pulls him into _ another _kiss and he almost feels himself trip over. He can feel himself start to get hard, and considering how close they are, he’s sure Byleth can feel it too.

He breaks the kiss and looks as her as if she’s a goddess that blessed him herself. He doesn't know if all women are goddesses but he's sure Byleth might be.

_ I’m going to be her most devout worshipper. _

His fingers are slightly trembling, nervousness building up in his body. He really, _ really _ doesn’t want to fuck this moment up. He’s sure the very worst thing that could happen is him under-performing right now. From the gossip he’s heard from some of the other male knights, disappointing a woman in bed is apparently what hurts a man’s ego the most. He sighs through his nose and reminds himself that, no, women aren’t _ that _complicated. He'll be fine... Maybe if he repeats that over and over in his mind it'll make it true.

Byleth, clearly noticing his sudden agitation, puts her hands over his, grounding him. “I’m nervous too. Don’t worry, we’re in this together, yeah?” The look she gives him is one he’s intimately familiar with. It’s a look his mother often gave him, one that tells that _ it’s okay_. She has a soft smile that crinkled her eyes.

Despite her saying she's nervous she doesn't display the telltale signs like he is. She's still got a very… stoic air to her, even with the motherly smile. Well, she's always been better at hiding her emotions than anyone else, and while Claude doesn't trust _ words _as much as he would like, he trusts her. 

He gives her a smile back that he hopes makes him look casual and flippant, to show that he’s _ cool _ and _ chill. _He tries giving her a wink but instead blinks with both of his eyes. Fuck.

Trying to save face, he quickly and slightly awkwardly points at the chair by the desk and asks, “Would... You sit there?”

She quirks an eyebrow but says nothing and does what he asks. Once seated she tilts her head and questions him, “And you’ll sit where, exactly? On my lap? I certainly wouldn’t mind. But I think we need a bigger chair. Maybe a bed.” she now holds a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Leave it to Teach to tease him in the middle of this. He keeps his smile on his face to try to hide the nervousness he feels will make him explode, and walks over to her with a suggestive sway of his hips. 

Keeping his tone flippant he speaks, “Nah. There’s something I’ve been wanting to do for an awfully long time now, Teach. But I'll have to take you on your offer another time.” 

Now in front of her, he sinks to his knees. She smiles at him like she expected this. 

“Wanted to do this for a long time, huh? You know how to flatter a woman.” The smirk she gives him now bares her canines, and her eyes look… Dangerous. Claude suddenly becomes intensely aware of the goosebumps that form on the back of his neck and the sweat that rolls beneath his stuffy clothing. He pulls on his collar and feels a quick rush of arousal.

When she unzips her shorts and shimmy out of them Claude licks his lips. He can see her underwear through her tights. Goddess, he hates those tights. He always thought they looked hideous with the rest of her usual outfit. He knows the rest of his Deer agree — Both Hilda and Lorenz bemoaned the fact she was wearing the same thing when she returned and insisted to wear something new that actually fits with her new eye and hair colour. Maybe he can convince Byleth to burn her awful wardrobe once this is over. 

Byleth seems nonplussed at Claude’s intensive staring and spreads her legs wide open. She giggles at his stunned looking expression as she does so, he looks like a kid who’s been set loose in a candy shop. 

“Like what you see?” she rasps.

He blows out a breath, “I have a feeling I’d like it a lot more without those tights.” He tries giving her a wink again, he’s successful this time, then goes back to staring her lower body. He’s not really sure what to do next. He puts his hands on both her thighs with the intention of sliding her tights off.

She hums, or rather, she _ purrs. _Now that’s a seductive noise he could get used to. Both of Byleth’s hand reach down to her crotch and before he can look back to her face to try to read her expression she rips open a wide hole.

Well, alright then. 

“Hey!" he _whines_, he splutters a little after hearing his voice but continues, "I wanted to do that!” 

She gives him a breathy laugh. “Another time, perhaps. Give me your hand.” He obliges without hesitation. She purrs again at that. 

She leads his hand to her mound, letting him cup her. He can.. Feel her folds beneath her underwear. Feel her wetness. 

_ Wow, okay. Holy shit. This is awesome. _

He swallows hard, instead of goosebumps on his neck it’s now sweat. He pulls on his collar with his free hand again. Fuck, it’s getting hot in here. It was already hot but now he feels as though he's swimming in a sauna filled with molten lava. He inwardly bites his lip in an attempt to school his expression so he doesn’t look like a lovesick schoolboy. He's certainly thinking like one.

She lets him rub her through her underwear before she brings both her hands down to rip her underwear with a _ growl. _He didn’t expect her to sound quite so aggressive, though he wasn’t really sure to expect, but he isn’t complaining. In fact, he can feel his pants becoming uncomfortably tight. 

He licks his lips again and looks up to her. “I never took you for the impatient type.”

There’s a twitch in her eye. Usually that’s a telltale sign that someone was offended or annoyed, but she’s giving him a teeth-baring smirk and her eyes remind him that of a wolf. She’s definitely not some delicate flower, he doubts he’ll speak with Lorenz about the intricacies of women for a while.

He looks back down to her… cunt. Wow. Her cunt. She’s shaven recently but he can see the beginnings of a new forest of hair growing. He never thought he’d be seeing the real deal. How many nights has he dreamed of this moment? How many lectures has he spent daydreaming of being underneath her? How many times has he spaced out from a conversation only to think of her? He blushes scarlet thinking about the amount of times he actually tried imagining what her pussy would look like.

To be front of the real deal makes his semi-hard cock into a fully hard one. He tries to say something but some incoherent mumbling comes out of his mouth instead. He shuts it along with his eyes and swallows hard before trying again.

“S-so can I” — He mentally curses himself for how high his voice sounds — “touch.. You?” He was going to say ‘it’ but quickly figured it might sound a bit… rude.

“Claude. Frankly I’d be pissed if you didn’t.” Suddenly her tone sounds biting, forceful and _ hot as fuck. _“Get in there. Now. Before I make you.”

He feels a shiver run throughout his entire body. The goosebumps come back in full force, reaching places he didn’t even know it was possible to get goosebumps. His crotch feels damp from the precum. 

_ Okay. Okay. So I know what type of tone I like to be spoken with in bed now. You learn something new everyday. _

He hesitantly lifts his hand to her vagina. He gingerly rubs a finger over it, feeling her clitoris and outer lips. When he withdraws some of her slick comes with him. He doesn’t think twice when he licks it. It’s.. sweet. But not overpoweringly so. It’s a light, syrupy sweetness. But also a bit salty. It’s slick and thicker than water. He hears a huff above him.

She chuckles, “Thinking hard about the taste?”

He pretends to be deep in thought, placing his index finger on his lips and closing his eyes, “Hmm. I’m not sure about the taste. I think.. I’ll have to have another try.” He mentally gives himself a high-five. _ Fuck yeah. That was so smooth. Go me. _

Immediately after those words spill from his lips he leans in. It’s only when he puts his mouth to her does he think he might have missed a step. 

_ Right. Fingering. Probably should have done that instead. _

But the soft and almost missable ‘_ah’ _encourages him to continue. He gives her one, long lick and he tastes the sweetness again.

It’s fast becoming one of his favourite flavours. He wonders if this is what nectar tastes like for hummingbirds.

_ Who am I, Lorenz? _

He’s giving her fast and quick licks. Like a dog lapping up water. He’s about to look up to her to gauge her reaction when he feels a harsh and tight grab in his hair. His scalp suddenly feels very tight and his entire body stills.

Well, except for his cock. That part of his body twitches at the sensation.

“Don’t just lick mindlessly.” Her voice has a tinge of annoyance to it. “Trace the alphabet with your tongue. You’ll get better results.” 

Her fist pushes him further into her crotch. Claude finds he can’t resist the urge any longer and palms at his cock after hastily unzipping his own pants to start fisting at it. He moans against her pussy and he can feel how his breath against her lower lips gives her goosebumps.

He follows her directions but the grip in his hair doesn’t let up. He finds he doesn’t mind. Doesn't mind grip on his scalp or her leading him. She has always led him. And he wants to continue following her. That's what a devout worshipper would do. He closes his eyes as he listens to her almost silent breaths. 

“Suck on my clitoris.” She’s slightly raspy now and closes her legs so that her thighs are pressing against his ears. With the hand in his airs and being in between her legs like this he feels effectively trapped. She won’t be letting him move out from his current position and he starts moving his hand on his cock faster and harder. Fuck, he never wants to get out of here.

Her _ command _ leaves no room for debate. He moves to suck her, wrapping her clit with his lips. Thee hand he isn’t using for masturbating reaches up to touch the underside her pussy. He enters her with a single finger while he sucks. Then he adds a second and moves them. In and out. In and out.

He does this for a few more seconds before he feels her clench hard against his fingers. His own body trembles violently and his stomach jerks in and out from him hitching his breath multiple times when he cums himself. He hears her give a long, contented sigh before cumming on his face. He stays there, obediently, even after she’s finished. It’s only she’s steadied her breathing does the iron grip she has on his scalp loosen up. He slowly extracts himself from her cunt and three strings of her fluids hangs off from his chin. 

She looks down on him, eyes slightly glazed, “You did well. _ Good boy. _” 

He feels his heart skip a beat and his stomach do a backflip. His entire body feels like jelly and his eyes are half-lidded. Eating her out gave him a better orgasm than his own hands could ever give him. 

Byleth wipes his mouth with her sleeve and bends down to kiss him. It’s not gentle, but rather full of passion and intensity like the first time they kissed. Claude lets himself be utterly consumed by her. It’s… an addictive feeling. Her tongue swipes across his mouth and she eventually sucks on _his _tongue. Now he just feels dizzy.

She lets him go, Claude almost tripping over himself because he had been leaning into her. He makes a small, needy moan.

“T-Teach…”

She puts a finger on his mouth. “Shush. Now, allow me to return the favour…" She leans down, and she's about to palm his crotch before saying a simple "Ah.”

She sees that he’s finished. And another look at Claude makes it clear he’s unable to continue going. 

_ Fuck. Fuck! I came too soon. That’s under-performing. That’s gotta be under-performing. _

His eyes widen, and suddenly feels as though he's been cornered. Claude makes an attempt to make himself hard again by rubbing himself again and looks down on his cock. “I-I’m sorry. Just — Just give me a minute an—”

He feels two hands cup his cheeks that gently, but forcefully, makes him turn to face Byleth. 

“That won’t be necessary. Relax.” Her expression is… not one of disappointment. Rather it’s more like someone scolding their dog. Claude feels himself give a sigh of relief regardless. 

Byleth guides Claude’s face into her now closed lap. Her thighs are firm, outlined with muscle. But still probably better than any pillow he’s ever slept on. There’s a hand back in her hair, but it’s gentle. She’s stroking his hair. 

“I’ll just have to make it up to you next time.” Her voice is soft. Content. But also tired. 

His heart skips another beat when she says next time. A next time. So he’s succeeded, if anything. Not going to be kicked out for fucking up. He closes his eyes and heaves a long but contented sigh. 

_ I’m a good boy. _

They stay like that, with Claude’s head on her lap and Byleth weaving her fingers through his hair, for a long time.

-

Claude awakes feeling the most refreshed he’s felt in a very long time. He had slept on the chair that wasn’t used for… _ the act. _His muscles feel a little stiff from the awkward angle he slept in. 

He stretches, lamenting the fact that Byleth had retired to her own quarters after they were finished. He decides he really wants to see her again, so he quickly readies himself and when he opens the door he’s suddenly assaulted by the aroma of some sort of pastry being made. 

Heading down stairs to the dining hall he sees the series of pies had been made. Turns out the garden was home to hefty amounts of raspberries, and the kitchen itself was still stocked enough for pies. 

Byleth is there, setting down utensils. She smiles at him and as much as he wants to run over to her and kiss her again, he’s unsure of how she feels about overly public displays of affection and so, he absconds. 

Instead, he calmly walks over, sniffing the air again. “I hope we’ve made enough to satiate Raphael.” 

“I’m just glad you’ve decided to join our meals again. I’m sure everyone else will be too,” she says, her cheeks are slightly rosy. She looks... almost shy. 

That makes him blush, and he looks away, feeling shy himself. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

A hand touches his shoulder, “Don’t worry about it. Just enjoy yourself, yeah?”

He leans into the touch without thinking about it, suddenly yearning for many more touches. 

When the breakfast was ready and everyone had entered, Claude hears several delighted squeals due to him returning for meal times. The thought all of them had been eagerly awaiting his return makes his heart flood with warmth, and he awkwardly rubs his neck.

When they actually began eating, most of the others make chatter with one another. When Byleth had seated herself next to him, he noticed some very _ expectant _glancesfrom Hilda and his three “mentors”. 

He ignores it, far too preoccupied with a hand slithering into his under the table. A shiver runs through him as he holds her hand. Her thumb rubs circles against his calloused knuckles. Fuck, he has to stop himself from sight contentedly. He had no idea just being _touched _could make feel so delighted. 

From Hilda's and the other’s gazes and the fact no one’s congratulated him, he knows Byleth hadn't told anyone of their new relationship. He almost likes the idea of it being secret, makes it _ forbidden. _

Maybe he’d been reading too much erotica.

When he spots Byleth taking a sip of her drink, he takes the opportunity to attack with a spur of the moment idea.

“By the way, Teach, thanks for dinner last night.” 

It gets the reaction he wants, she almost drops her drink and the hand in his tightens its grip around him.

Sylvain gives him a side-long glance. “Dinner, eh? I thought you just had tea.”

Claude gives him a coy grin. “Yeah, and we had dinner afterwards. Jealous?”

Byleth, meanwhile, wipes her face with a napkin. “Claude,” Her voice is slightly quipped, “I see we’re both done. I would like to discuss tactics with you if you’re able. Shall we head to the study?” He doesn’t miss the seductive tone she uses.

And he’s sure it’s not lost on everyone else either.

-

She’s led him back to the room where they confessed and consummated their newfound relationship, and they've slammed the door hard enough so it echoes across the mansion. There are still moments he has to pinch himself to confirm that yes, this is real. This is happening. 

They’re dancing again, or more accurately they’re swaying in each other’s arms. Byleth’s arms are around Claude’s waist, her head on his shoulder. One of his hands is absentmindedly stroking her long hair, with the other on the small of her back. He makes a mental note to ask her if he braid it. They stay like that, swaying and saying nothing. Enjoying each other’s company and each other’s touches.

Byleth is the one that eventually extracts herself from Claude’s arms and he makes a small noise of discontent. She puts an index finger on his broad chest and exerts the tiniest amount of pressure.

Claude understands the soundless command, and his noise of discontent turns into one of delight. He steps back a couple times before he can feel the chair at the back of his legs. He sits down and watches Byleth’s expression turn into one that’s downright seductive. The goosebumps he felt the first time they were here come back in full force.

“I think..” She drawls, voice low and sultry. That _ purring _is back, “it’s time for me to enjoy a... Feast.” she emphasizes the last word, popping the ‘t’. 

He may be inexperienced, but he’s not dumb enough to _ not _ know what she means about this. The very thought of it makes his pant tent. He’s dreamed of this, well, he’s dreamed of doing a lot of things with Byleth. But the boyish part of his mind has always given special attention to her using her mouth on him. 

Glancing down to his crotch, Byleth cups her chin with her thumb with her index finger on top of her lips, as if she’s looking at something particularly interesting. 

“You’re just dying for this, aren’t you?” There’s a hint of laughter in her voice.

“I don’t think I’ll give you that much satisfaction just yet, Teach,” he mocked. He tried to keep his voice steady, but it’s raspy. He’s hand go to crotch, slowly. He unzips himself, slowly. He wants to take his pants off just as slowly as well. Make her wait for it. Make her impatient. 

And impatient he does make her, since she merely narrows her eyes and palms at his erection. Claude’s hip give a small buck at the sensation. His face immediately flushes. 

“_Tease_,” She says harshly. Claude’s mind momentarily goes blank.

_ She’s touching me. Touching me down there. Oh fuck. Oh fuuuuuck. _

Despite trying to be seductive, he hadn’t actually thought of her touching his penis. Hadn’t quite planned that far ahead. To hellfire with his plan to be slow, he quickly and messily brings his hands to the edges of his pants and pulls himself out of it. He hears Byleth whisper a _ good boy _and he decides that he won’t try teasing her again. He’ll do what she wants. He wants to hear her call him that again.

He keeps his hands to the side and braces himself as he watches Byleth lower herself to her knees. 

_ It’s happening. It’s happening. It’s happening. Relax man. Just be cool — _

Before he can finish giving himself a pep-talk he feels a soft hand palm his cock again, and gives him a few strokes. Claude moans, and then immediately puts a hand over his mouth cause _ fuck that sounded really high-pitched, dammit, Claude get it together. _

Her hand leaves his erection and he has to bite his lip to prevent himself from whimpering. He looks at the woman in front of him, the expression marring Byleth's face is not one of reassurance at all. She almost looks angry. His breath hitches, and he's about to ask what her what's wrong when he hears her _stupidly sexy _commanding voice.

“I won’t touch you if you force yourself to stay quiet. I want to hear you, I’m sure you have a lovely singing voice.” 

Claude swallows heavily, and then hesitantly removes his hand from his mouth. Byleth smiles at him. 

“Good boy.”

She… She really needs to stop with that endearment or he’ll cum right then and there. 

He feels the hand return on his member and he takes some sharp breaths. He closes his eyes tightly shut when he sees her face start to lower. His breathing becomes more erratic in anticipation and —

When he feels a tongue just _flick _him his traitorous hips make another buck and he gives a short, shrill whimper. When... When he feels her continue to _lick _him, her tongue sliding up and down his length he blows out a long breath. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands so he just clenches them hard. 

Byleth is obviously someone who doesn’t take orders, either in or out of the bedroom. Because of this he decides not to fist her hair. He doubts she’ll appreciate it, and will probably just slap his hands away. So he stays there, body trembling and giving shaky breaths and moans. Like a good boy.

When he feels her begin to swallow his length he slaps his hands on his forehead and leans his neck backwards. 

“F-Fuck, Teach. Y-You really know how to give a man a run for his money.” His voice is hitched and he gives another moan when she sucks in her cheeks. He feels a hand grip tightly on his thigh, denting his flesh. Her other hand starts to jerk him off with her mouth still on him. He feels himself drool and he knows he’s leaking precum. 

She continues pumping him while hollowing out her cheeks and licking his tip. She’s _ consuming _him like he’s a feast to be enjoyed. She’s definitely done this before. That much was obvious ages ago. Claude finds himself suddenly jealous but that emotion is immediately replaced with intense pleasure as he continues whimpering and moaning, his body squirming. 

His breath begins to quickly hitch as he pants and his hands grip hard on the armrests of the chair. 

“Teach, hhhng... — I-I’m—” 

Byleth immediately removes her mouth from his length with a resounding _ pop_. The hand that was jerking him off stills and grips him harder, hard enough to prevent him his release. 

“Nuh uh. Not yet, little deer.” While Claude is whimpering like he’s a child about to cry, Byleth’s voice sounds clear, light and pleasant. Her new term of endearment immediately implants itself into Claude’s mind. Good boy and little deer. He could get used to that.

He suddenly feels a light slap on his balls and his entire body jumps. Before he can properly register what happened he feels _ teeth. On his thighs. _

She’s biting him.

She’s fucking biting him! 

He feels pain, but not as much as he expected. Rather, the _ pleasure _he feels makes his stomach feel like it’s on fire and he knows that if she wasn’t gripping him like she is he would have came then and there. He’s not… entirely sure what to make about that newfound fact. 

Byleth sucks harshly on his thigh and when she lets him go she leaves a hickey. She mercifully lets go of her iron grip on his penis and stands up to get out of her pants. 

He hears a distinctive _ slick _ when she removes her underwear. She’s wet. Very wet. 

“So, uh... I, uh, ” he closes his eyes and swallows heavily to try to recompose himself. Then he smiles. Cool and flippant Claude is back in the house. “We’re going all the way huh? You spoil me!” There’s a chuckle in his voice.

She says nothing but gives him a small laugh. She leans down and teases his lips with teeth and tongue. When he opens up for her she immediately consumes his entire mouth; as if she’s staking claim on what is hers. 

_ She is. I am hers. Completely. _

She continues kissing him when she begins to sit on top of his lap. Her cunt excitedly close to his cock. She nips him with a bite to his bottom lip and he groans unabashedly loud. When she lets go his lip, with a growl no less, he shuts his eyes and cranes his neck backwards in anticipation of her mounting him. But the feeling doesn’t come.

Instead, he feels fingers grip his chin. Byleth makes him face her. 

“Open your eyes. I want to see you when I let you inside me.” There she is using a tone that leaves nothing for debate, _again_. His cock twitches against her backside.

He flutters his eyes open. He didn’t know if it was possible, but he blushes harder from being directly in front of her face. His feels like it's on fire. Maybe someone casted Hellfire upon him, at this point he wouldn't be surprised. Her smile is soft, but her eyes gleam with mischief. 

She lifts herself up just slightly so she's able to position Claude’s length directly beneath her entrance. Some of her juices drip on his tip. 

She watches him with an intense, unblinking stare as she slowly, torturously so, lets him inside of her. 

The sound he makes is one he’ll probably deny until he’s on his deathbed. It’s shrill. It’s high-pitched. And it lasts for a long time. 

Finally letting go of his death-grip on the armrests of the chair, Claude’s bigger hands settle upon the curve of her lower back, stroking the skin as he grounds his hips to meet hers. It’s divine being inside of her, she’s warm — _of course she’s warm you blithering virgin —_ and not as tight as he expected. He had read… steamy novels before. _ Smutty literature _ as Hilda had called them. But nothing could have ever prepared him for the real deal. He doubts anything in those books could even begin to _ compare _to the feelings Byleth was giving him. 

He feels a sudden pinch on one of his nipples and gives out an undignified squeal. Looking down, he sees Byleth had put a hand underneath his shirt. 

She huffs, “Sensitive? Or just shy?” Her breath feels warm against his face and the grip on his nipples tightens. 

Claude lets out another low moan and the hands that were once caressing Byleth’s back stills, and grabs onto her skin, as if hanging on for dear life. 

“Definitely sensitive.”

Not wanting to be outdone just yet, he cranes his neck forward and presses hot, open mouthed kisses to her breasts, nuzzling against her and makes pleased noises. He is rewarded with joyful hum on Byleth’s part. 

The grip on his nipple doesn’t let up, and he can feel another hand begin to scratch up a storm on his chest and stomach. It gives him a tingling sensation throughout his entire body, and the occasionally tight clenches of her inner muscles around him coaxes multiple gasps and moans from his chest.

Before he can register the action, Byleth quickly stops scratching and reaches for the back of his scalp, grips his hair, and pulls him sharply. He thinks he might pop a muscle with how quickly he’s forced to bend his neck backwards. 

The tingling pain and her accompanying growl is _ divine. _

“Beg for it.” She’s raspy. Her eyes are ravenous. Wolfish. _ Insatiable. _

Cruel, cruel woman, making him beg for something again. 

“_Please _,” his voice is a harsh, grating noise now. It almost sounds as if he’ll cry. “Please, please, please—!!”

Byleth then bites onto the base of his neck, hard enough that he thinks she might draw blood. Her teeth greedily clenching around his skin sends pleasure washing over his body in agonizing waves. 

Her body clenches around him again and it’s the catalyst he needs. He cums with withered cry and gasps against her cheek. She continues clenching down him, and he feels her slightly shiver from her own orgasm. 

She eventually lets go of his neck, hair and nipple, one hand gently brushing his sweat dampened hair back from his temples. She then wraps her arms around his neck, lightly panting. He returns to rubbing her back absentmindedly. She stops panting as she studies his flushed face for a moment and runs a the calloused backs of her knuckles over his cheek. The fondness in her eyes makes him smile shyly and lean into her touch.

She’s about to say something but then there’s a sudden… sound. It sounds like a concussive slap. It happens again, and it falls into a rhythm and it’s soon joined by many more.

It’s clapping.

_ Lots _of clapping. And it’s later joined by whistling. 

“_Encore! Encore! _” That sounds like Sylvain. Claude is impressed the man is brave, or stupid, enough to reveal he’s part of this group. He makes a mental note to strangle him later.

So much for being _ secret _ and _ forbidden. _

The clapping dies down when Byleth loudly clears her throat. 

“Alright," she says in her Professor voice, "if there’s anyone there by the time I open this door, you’ll be feeling the wrath of Sothis herself. And ordered to clean the laundry for a month.”

The second threat does a better job in instilling the appropriate amount of fear in their audience and Claude can hear multiple footsteps scrambling away. When the sounds fades away he gives her a toothy grin.

“I love you, you know that?” There’s that von Riegen wink.

Byleth hums appreciatively. “So I’ve been told. I’m quite fond of you too.” Their foreheads touch, and then Claude peppers her with kisses. 

“You know, Teach… I think I wouldn’t mind an encore. That was a pretty good performance you gave there.” 

-

For at least a week, no one can look him in the eye. 

They’d had finally left the decrepit town and began moving forward. Everyone’s laundry had _ mysteriously _been washed immaculately. 

When they had pitched their tents, Claude immediately retires into his own, his muscles begging for some relief from all the walking. His mind immediately goes back to Byleth. As they were traveling she had been constantly at his side, holding his hands, rubbing his back, ruffling his hair. Since feeling her touch he has realized how much he missed simple caresses. He always found himself leaning into her, especially when she gave him open mouthed kisses.

Thinking about his time with her, _ his first time, _ his mind flutters to the moments she had took control. Though, really, she had controlled the entire event. Not that he minded, ever since he had discovered a specific… _ genre _of erotica it was all he had ever read for a while. The ones where women dominated men. The concept had excitedly him immensely. He remembers one night when he had been masturbating he experimentally slapped his own ass, the embarrassment of it immediately taking him out of the moment and he stood in a cold shower afterwards.

But with Byleth, when she had pinch, scratched, pulled at him and made him _beg_… He felt like he had belonged, felt this was where he needed to be.

It felt _ right. _

Taking off his jacket, he spots a bruise on his arm. It’s a small bruise he got from a fight, but while not serious in the slightest it would still sting if he put pressure on it. 

Claude brought two fingers to the bruise.

And presses down.

The gasps that leaves him is _ sinful _and goosebumps fill his entire body. 

He presses down hard and his hand goes underneath his shirt to pinch his nipple.

His hips buck slightly and he can feel himself begin to get hard.

He’s been learning an awful lot about himself these last few days.

He’ll have to have… an in-depth discussion with Byleth soon.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the angst is ramped up to 11.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: i'll take a short break from writing :)  
my brain: lol no you won't here have some inspiration

_He’ll have to have an in-depth discussion with Byleth soon. _He thought, and then promptly didn’t do just that. In fact, he mostly avoided talking about it, opting to… just ignore that side of him. As best as he could, anyway.

Besides, it’s not like he had much opportunity to have that theoretical discussion with Byleth, not with a _fucking war _constantly looming over their heads. And if it’s not dealing with Edelgard’s army, it’s dealing with bandits or doing his best to assist with wandering, derelict families whose homes have been long destroyed. He tries, Goddess does he try, but they’re running out of supplies. Marianne tries her best to make the issue sound not as bad, that they’re actually _fine _but he knows. He’s read the supply records they have. He knows that they can’t help the next destitute civilians they come across. Even if they’re nothing but skin and bones he wouldn’t be able to _help _because they just don’t have fucking _enough. _He… has to put his soldiers first. Putting them first will allow them to save so much more in need in the long run.

_Look at you, _a whisper suddenly fills his head. His own whisper. It’s angry and hateful, _Abandoning the civilians you dreamed of helping. Didn't you want to have a world free of discrimination? To save the oppressed?_

He pinches the bridge of his nose. Thinking about it like this will do him no good. Will do _no one _any good. Besides, it's not discriminating to fucking feed his-

No. _No. _He won't think about it now, not like this. It has to be discussed during a meeting with his most trusted. The pressure on his nose increases when he remembers to let go of himself. He absentmindedly kicks at some rocks in the gravel road he's walking in. 

The whisper comes back, spitting out vitriol.

_You won't help defenseless civilians but you let Byleth take in soldiers from the enemy army. You should have gutted Ferdinand and Ashe like the dogs they are in the Battle for Myrddin. Ingrid’s head should be on a pike. And yet you stood there, letting Byleth weave her pretty platitudes at them as if they were friends._

They're valuable allies now. After keeping them locked up and eventually deeming them trustworthy they've been a boon to the forces. Besides, this is part of realizing his dream. Of breaking down borders and walls. Surely the whittling down of the enemy's best forces, of them willingly joining _their _army, is an example that his ideals-

_A world and ideals that doesn't fucking include those who truly matter the most! The defenseless! You're allowing Byleth walk all over you and running this entire fucking circus you call an army! Who deemed them trustworthy? Byleth! She shouldn't have that sort of power in making decisions!_

Claude massages his temples and blows an annoyed breath. His eyes clenches shut as if he's afraid to see the same goddamn formation of trees he's walked past a million times now in his relentless pacing. 

"Stop thinking about it, Claude," he whispers sharply, "just stop fucking _thinking. _"

He rubs his hands over his face and when he finally opens his eyes he huffs a humourless laugh at nothing. 

"Look at you. Fighting with your own thoughts. Who are you, fucking Dimitri?"

He frowns, suddenly feeling guilty about using a man he desperately wants to continue to consider his friend as an insult. He sighs, then breathes in and out. Counting to ten between every inhale and exhale. Willing himself to calm down. 

He didn’t realize he had been clenching and unclenching his fists when he looks down, and slows his breathes down even further. 

When he feels as though he’s properly calmed himself down he hears shuffling in the trees and multiple twigs breaking under the foot of something. He can tell from the amount of noise that it’s a large animal, and considering her recent track record he isn’t surprised to see an almost glowing white wyvern.

He smiles tiredly, “Pruina. Hey girl, you always come at the right moment, huh?”

The wyvern bellows happily, does a light jog to reach her master and gives him a big, long lick to the face. Claude laughs lightly, quickly wiping the saliva off his face. 

“Hey, now! Don’t go ahead and eat me, I’m not cooked enough to be tasty.” She responds with another low but happy bellow and nudges his shoulder. 

Claude didn’t expect to be quite so attached to his wyvern, but he had found her as a hatchling shortly after Byleth’s disappearance. She had either been abandoned, or her parents were killed. Regardless, she was the only one left in a broken down nest and taking her in was a split-second decision he made. One he initially regretted, having no real idea how to take care of a growing predator. But he made it, somehow, and she had become a constant sense of comfort for him. One of his most loyal friends. 

If there was a cure for sadness, he was fairly certain it was a happy wyvern.

He scratches at her neck and she holds her head up high. He’s so engrossed in giving his wyvern attention that he doesn’t notice another figure make its way towards him.

When he hears light, fluttery laughter that makes his heart skip a beat, he looks over to see Byleth looking at him with soft eyes. He swallows unconsciously, suddenly feeling nervous.

He’s saved from looking at her longer because Pruina makes her way to Byleth to give her the same long lick she gave Claude. At least his wyvern has accepted her as his mate, if anything. Pruina had been fiercely protective of him whenever someone else made advances to him. She would rebuke them for him.

Claude shifts uncomfortably on his feet. He knows that theoretical discussion about his… preferences in bed will not happen tonight. He knows as much because he refuses to talk about. Ever since the evening their bodies became one they hadn’t had the chance to have sex again, both of them being far too busy for it. Claude counts this as a blessing, as it means he can avoid the topic as long as he can. 

It’s not Byleth that makes him nervous, not really. At least that’s what he tells himself. It totally has nothing about the little voice in his head that’s been blaming her for everything recently. He’s just jittery about doing the deed again. It’s only natural, surely, since he’s still so inexperienced. What would he even say in this so-called discussion? That he’s, what, a masochist? How can he know that for certain about himself after having sex once? How does one even approach that topic, anyway?

He thinks back to him pushing down onto his bruise. He hasn’t tested that since he became so… self-conscious about himself. He doesn’t _want _to do it again. It makes him feel awkward just thinking about it now. The same applies to thinking about what Byleth did to him. Her scratching, her pinching, her biting. Sure, the only erotica he imbibed in recent years was a popular genre of women harshly dominating men but it was all just a fantasy.

Besides, getting off to pain? Weird. That’s weird isn’t it?

Claude was normal.

He wasn’t weird. He wasn’t weird like the kids who threw sticks and stones at him when he was a child said he was. He wasn’t about to give his childhood bullies justification by having weird tastes in bed. He wasn’t fucking _weird _.

The only reason it happened was because it was his first time. He didn’t know what to do. He’s sure it wouldn’t happen again when he and Byleth have sex again.

...Then why was he so nervous about the thought of having sex again?

He shakes his head and sees Byleth still being hounded by Pruina. He gulps — why is he gulping? He’s totally not nervous. That’d be _weird _. — and walks to give Pruina a pat on the neck. They’re on either side of the wyvern, scratching and patting her large, muscular neck. Pruina closes her eyes and stays still. Claude can’t really read a wyvern’s expression, but he’s pretty sure she’s smiling.

Byleth finally speaks, “So this is where you’ve hiding. Meal time is almost ready you know.”

He nods, keeping his voice cool, “Well, we gotta give Pruina her daily attention first. She’ll never let us get away if we don’t." 

That much isn’t a lie, as the reptile is _very _particular about the amount of pats and scratches she gets. Byleth gives a toothy grin and laughs. 

“She’s so big!” she emphasizes the word ‘big’ by raking her fingers up and down Pruina’s neck, “She’s so much bigger than our scout wyverns.”

Claude tilts his head, “Yeah? That’s because the scouts are all male. All female wyverns are bigger than the males, Teach. At least by a third. Don’t you remember giving us that lecture?” 

To his surprise, she actually blushes and shyly looks away. Huh. So she had forgotten about teaching them about wyvern sexual dimorphism. 

Claude feels easy for once in a long time. Calm. His nervousness gradually fades away, replaced by a sense of warmth. He knows he’ll still be nervous whenever they may have sex again, but at least he can take comfort in-

_She’s manipulating you._

It’s the same whisper, bitter and cruel. Claude sighs through his nose and closes his eyes. He tries to will the voice away but he knows it’ll come back.

It always comes back. He doesn’t know when it first started happening, but he knows it was some time after he had seriously begun to think about the sex he and Byleth had. In the spur of the moment the bites, scratches and everything else felt right, and he's sure it still does but now when he’s thinking about, being lost in his own thoughts, he's marred by self-doubt. Whenever he thought about it a harsh whisper filled his head. 

_So obedient and pliant for her. So easy to use, _it mocks him, relentlessly. Apparently, gone are the days his thoughts could be his own safe haven, now it’s just constant deprecation.

His fingers shake. 

_Look at how she took you. Took your first time. Robbed you of your virginity. The _control _she had over you. Almost… like she's manipulating you._

Byleth is just more experienced than him, is all. She was just leading him through his first time, albeit a bit roughly.

_How long will you continue to let her lead you? To control you? _It bites back at him sharply, and Claude almost feels like he was actually bitten, _She practically leads your army for you. How can a future king be so pathetic both in and outside of bed? How can you be so _submissive _?_

Is that what he’s been? Submissive? Docile? Obedient? Weak?

No. No that can’t be it. He’s a leader. One day a _king. _He has to be powerful. Authoritative. Commanding. _Dominant. _Almyrans were warriors. He had to be a warrior.

_All she did that night was degrade you and you let her._

He swallows thickly, throat suddenly dry as a desert. His whole hands are shaking now.

He didn’t want to be manipulated or used. He refused to let himself be used.

He knew that sentiment was ironic, considering he used Byleth. Is still using her, technically, to realize his dream of a better world. But it was a good cause, he reasoned. The ends justify the means. 

He had become uncomfortably aware of the sweat that was forming on his forehead when Pruina decides she has had enough petting and bellows before flapping her wings. There’s a gust of wind as she takes off to fly back to camp. 

Byleth makes a small giggle as she fixes her hair, “Well, that’s that, huh? Shall we go? All that petting made me awfully hungry!” She looks at him, and her jovial face drops slightly, “Claude, are you alright?”

He had been rubbing his hands furiously after wiping at his sweaty forehead. He nods, a bit too fitfully, but gives his usual easy smile. “Yup! I was just thinking it was awfully rude for Pruina to fly off without giving us a ride.” He stretches his arms out, and holds them behind his head, “I’m starving too. Let’s skedaddle.”

Byleth doesn’t look entirely convinced, but she doesn’t pursue the topic. She goes on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. The action makes his heart skip a beat and he makes a conscious effort to keep his smile plastered on his face. 

She quickly takes her hand in his when he lets his arms fall back on his side and they walk.

Claude tries not to think about the whispers. 

But he does. 

He bites the inside of his cheek.

He’s not _weird. _He’s normal. And it wasn’t normal for a leader to let himself get led around and controlled. He can’t allow himself be perceived as submissive. He can’t be a pliant ruler who can be manipulated and used, how could he usher in a new world of peace if he was?

He doesn’t think about the fact that he tries to make his pace faster than Byleth, so that he’s the one leading her to camp rather than the other way around.

\----

They head into a large tent that’s an impromptu dinner hall, there’s a large rectangular table that they’ve nicked from a destroyed house they searched a while back in the middle of it. Their meals aren’t anything amazing, considering their current supply output. It’s potato and leek soup, something Claude thinks he’s had a million times now. But Raphael, saint that he is, eats it ravenously. He knows he does so because Raphael doesn’t want whoever’s on cooking duty to feel bad. 

He remembers when Hilda had tried making toast of all things, and she almost blew up what kitchen supplies they had.

Raphael still wolfed it down and thanked her. 

He takes a sip from the soup. It’s not terrible. Just boring. But he’s not going to complain about it. He’s just happy they have enough to feed everyone, including the enemies-turned-allies that make him agitated to even think about. He won’t think about it. Not when Byleth leans on his arms, contently eating her own soup. At times he brought a spoon to her lips to feed her some of his own soup, earning some giggles and woos from his the people around her. But he finds he doesn’t mind much. She was leaning on him, and he had taken the initiative to feed her, as well as kiss her intermittently. 

He was… being normal. Yeah. That was it.  
  


Hilda sits directly across from Lysithea and Cyril, and her expression tells Claude she’s cooking up a scheme.

“Sooooooo,” she draws out, loud enough for everyone to hear, stretching her arms across the table, “I saw something veeeeeeeeeeeeeery interesting!” 

Hilda keeps her gaze at Lysithea and Cyril, and it becomes obvious that whatever she saw pertains to the two of them. Lysithea looks annoyed, Cyril looks confused. 

When Hilda is egged on by the others lifts her arms from the table and points at the two in front of her. 

She looks _gleeful. _Like the cat that got the cream. 

“I saw Lysithea and Cyril, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

The table and dishes rustle as everyone else goes in a frenzy with their ooo’ing and cheers. Lysithea, meanwhile, splutters into her soup and if looks could kill… Well, Hilda would be petrified right about now. 

Cyril somehow looks even more confused than before. 

The archer frowns, “But we weren’t sitting in a tree—”

He’s cut off but by Lysithea slamming her fist on the table, her face a deep shade of scarlet. 

“H-H-H-How dare you?! You cow!”

Hilda simply laughs at the insult, leaning back far enough it looks as though she will fall. 

There’s a sudden gust of wind. 

And Hilda falls to the ground with an _oof _and a bang. Laughter echoes throughout the tent, but Claude notices a specific sound out the cacophony of guffawing. Cyril’s claps. And from the look at Lysithea’s triumphant face, it’s obvious she had used magic on Hilda. 

Cyril’s cheeks are tinged with pink, “Awesome, Lys!”

Well, as long as they’re happy. 

Everyone quiets down when Byleth claps her own hands loudly, before clearing her throat. 

When there’s silence, Byleth speaks, “Congratulations Lysithea and Cyril. I’m happy for you two,” the couple in question smile at each other, “However, and that is one notable however, I’d appreciate it if we didn’t use people’s private lives as dinnertime gossip.” She fixes a The-Disapproving-Professor-Look in Hilda’s direction, and the axe-wielder has the decency to look a bit bashful after shrugging. 

Calm eventually envelops the tent once more and Byleth takes her position leaning on Claude’s arm again. Clearly he’s more comfortable than a pillow. 

Most people have finished their soup at this point, and Claude can hear crickets chirp outside. Raphael bellows out a large yawn. Looking over the people around him, he sees Lysithea furiously poking at Cyril.

Cyril suddenly looks like he just remembered something, his mouth making a small ‘o’ shape and his fist hitting the palm of his hand. 

“Oh! Everyone!” he yells and stands, “When I was scouting I found a small oasis! There’s a beach and water and everything.”

Lysithea nods sagely, “Yes, I think it would be prudent if we were to take the time to go swimming! For morale, of course.”

Claude suddenly feels every pair of eyes fall on him and Byleth. All gazes saying hidden pleads, and he mentally notes how good at puppy dog eyes his fellow Deer have gotten. Hilda must have taught them that move.

Fuck, why does he’s feel like a dad to several children now?

His lips part, but Byleth speaks before he can get a word out, “I think that’s a stellar idea. And perfect for morale too.” She looks up to Claude, expectant.

_She’s leading you again, _a whisper bites like a viper.

He swallows. Morale is good. They can take the day off. 

Claude shrugs, and a good natured smile is plastered on his face, “Well I’m hardly the one to deny you all a beach day of all things. I say go for it. Cyril, you’ll lead us there?”

Cyril nods quickly and the tent is filled with cheers again. High-fives are exchanged and fists are pumped. Byleth nuzzles his cheek with her own. 

_Your input wouldn’t have mattered if you disagreed. No one would have followed your command._

Claude tucks that poisonous thought back into the deep recesses of his mind. 

\---

There is indeed something of an oasis, a large watering hole surrounded by sand and colourful and exotic looking flowers. The water is clear and crisp. There’s a small rocky cliff to the side that’s promptly used a point to jump off of. Naturally, no one has swimsuits, opting to use their extra undergarments, though some use some parts of old clothing to make themselves look modest. 

They’re practically wearing swimsuits, anyway. Sylvain stands at the edge of the cliff triumphant, legs apart and head held high.

He's probably loving this. 

"I'm loving this!"

There we go.

The young man leaps off the rocks and makes a large splash with his cannonball.

Claude sits on a small cliff fully clothed after those who have wanted to use the rock as a paddling board have jumped. He doesn’t have any real intention in joining the festivities, besides, he feels as though he can enjoy himself fully by watching everyone else have their fun. He’s glad they’re doing this. He feels some of the tension dissipate from his body, a small weight on his shoulders lifting as he sees everyone splash in the water. He won’t be underestimating the power of leisure on one’s mental health in the future. During these precious moments, the war doesn’t exist. 

He watches Leonie perch herself on Raphael’s massive shoulders, while Hilda sits on Ignatz’s wobbly body. They charge at each other, Leonie and Hilda trying to throw one another off. Considering that Raphael completely dwarfs Ignatz, it doesn’t exactly take very long for Leonie to achieve her victory, bellowing out a loud victory cry when Hilda falls in the water. 

Claude doesn’t miss how Felix watches every inch of Leonie's movements. He’s sitting, well, more like skulking in the shadows out of the water. But Claude can still see the blush that paints his pale features. Spying a little further away from Felix, Claude spots Lysithea and Cyril making sandcastles at the shore bank.

He doesn’t mind Felix as much as the more recent… ‘recruits.’ He had joined the Golden Deer house, like Petra and Sylvain, during the school year. Byleth attracted students from other houses like moths to a flame and ‘sniped,’ as Leonie put it, them away from their houses. Thus, they were never on opposing sides of the war, so he doesn’t feel the same tension he does when he looks at Ashe, Ingrid and Ferdinand. 

He closes his eyes. The air is clean. The atmosphere is calm despite the roughhousing. Hearing the cacophony of laughter and jubilation is… pleasant. He wants to stay like this for a while.

He hears wet footsteps approach him and when he opens his eyes he sees a soaked Sylvain and Ashe sit on either side of him. He clenches his jaw hard at the sight of Ashe but keeps his expression cool and casual. Ever since he joined them he has been stuck at Sylvain’s side. Really, all the former Blue Lions students have basically made their own clique at this point. He supposes it was inevitable, Sylvain was, and still is, close friends with Ashe. It’s no surprise the two stay in constant connection.

Though it doesn’t make him feel any less weird about the fact it really wasn’t that long since Ashe literally tried to kill him.

Was Byleth really that good at persuasion? Has she always been?

Before he can stare a hole into Ashe, Sylvain grabs his attention. 

“Not joining us, oh glorious leader?”

Claude smirks, it’s a fake smile, and he inwardly hopes to end this conversation quickly because Ashe’s proximity is making him profoundly uncomfortable, “And ruin my expensive Almyran undergarments? Nah, think I’ll pass. You two have fun trying to drown each other, though.”

Undeterred, Sylvain elbows him and gives a sly, cheeky grin, “The least you can do is sunbathe with your girl.” The red-head nods towards the beach, and Claude chances a glance to the small beach, and sure enough Byleth is lying on her back on a laid out tarp. Her eyes are closed. Fuck, she looks really pretty and serene and—

He’s taken out of his reverie when he hears Sylvain speak up again, sounding very smug now. 

“I told you Ashe! He’s completely smitten! Isn’t it adorable?” The next thing Claude hears is Sylvain imitating kissing noises, and turning his head he has to lean back slightly because the Blue Lions’ student invades his personal space under the pretense of kissing him dramatically. 

Before he can think of an equally smarmy response to deflect the attention that’s currently suffocating him, Ashe finally speaks. He nonchalantly places a hand on Claude’s shoulder and when Claude looks at the freckled face in front of him he sees a boyish and a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

“Yeah, maybe if you _beg _her she’ll let you lie on her tarp!”

The two young men burst in laughter, Sylvain apparently finds it funny enough to slap his knees. “Hah! She’ll probably order him around a bit, but you probably like that don’t you?” another infuriating elbow hits him, and Claude genuinely wants nothing more than to shove an arrow down Sylvain’s throat, “No wonder my advice did you no good. You’re hardly an _Alpha! _”

The teasing continues, but Claude doesn’t hear any of it. His mind is completely blank. Suddenly, he feels like he’s sitting in a void. All he sees is blackness around him and echoing laughter. He knows it’s just the two of them, but here it sounds as though the whole world is laughing at him.

He knows he and Byleth had an audience that one night several weeks ago, but he’s more or less forgotten about it. Now the humiliation comes back in full force and bile fills his throat. He’s clenching his jaw hard enough he thinks his bones might just shatter.

He knows Sylvain is expecting him to make a comeback about his virginity. He _knows _this is supposed to be friendly banter not meant to actually hurt. He knows that. It’s probably meant to make him feel more comfortable with Ashe and to instill a sense of camaraderie after their tumultuous meeting at Myrddin.

But the fact that that night had apparently been a topic of conversation fills him with an intense feeling of disgust. How many people had actually heard them? Does _everyone _talk about it, laughing behind his back? Does Ferdinand, Ingrid and other former schoolmates they’ve recruited know about it? Why is _his _privacy apparently free game for dinnertime gossip?

_They don’t actually respect you, _the whisper comes back, voice filled with disdain, _Why should they? You let Byleth walk all over you. You’re not a leader. You’re just a woman’s bitch. All she did that night was degrade you and you let her._

How dare they. How dare they use… use _this _against him. His hands clench and his fingernails scrape against his palm and his knuckles go white. How dare Sylvain actually tell Ashe that he begged for it. How dare Ashe think he has the right to even utter a word about it shortly after the fucker tried to kill him in battle. Who do they think they are? A bunch of giggling schoolboys? He never knew Ashe well, but he had the impression he was a mature young man back in school, but he supposes being the company of Sylvain makes one brain rot. Are all the Blue Lions like this? _How dare they. _

Feeling like a centipede crawling through his ear canal, the whisper continues its tirade, _She’s just manipulating you. Using you. Using you like a toy to be discarded when she gets bored. What woman would want to stay with a limp, pathetic man like you? _

Then, it repeats itself.

_All she did that night was degrade you._

_And you let her._

He hates the two men beside him. Fiercely and intensely. He didn’t come here for a swim, but he feels as though he’ll be more than happy with drowning them in the water in front of him. 

His unmitigated hatred must be showing on this face, because suddenly the suffocating black in his vision is replaced by a hesitant Ashe. The freckled man has removed his hand from Claude’s shoulder, which is fortunate for Ashe because he doesn’t think he could resist the temptation of breaking the man’s hand. The former Blue Lions student is cowering in front of him now. Good. 

“H-Hey…” That’s Sylvain, his voice sounding a bit scared. Claude finds that fear suits the man. He turns his head sharply to look at him and sees the red-head is keeping his head lowered. It’s a sign of submission but he doubts Sylvain is doing it consciously. So much for being an _Alpha. _

Claude doesn’t buy in any of this ‘Alpha male’ bullshit that’s apparently a recent mantra that Sylvain lives on, but Sylvain being cowed with just a look fills him with an overwhelming and perverse sense of gratification. 

Sylvain wants an Alpha male? Claude will fucking show him one. 

Claude reels his arm back.

And he punches the man he once considered a friend in the jaw. Hard. 

As far as Claude is concerned, Sylvain deserves a lot more than a simple punch, but he knows the shrill yelp that comes from his target’s mouth and Ashe worriedly yelling Sylvain’s name will draw the attention of most if not all of the people on the beach. Instead of publicly beating Sylvain to death, he opts to threaten him instead. 

“I don’t want to see you ever again.” His voice is harsh and heavy, “I don’t care if you have to hide under a plank of wood in battle. The second I see your face I’ll fucking kill you.”

Ashe whimpers, and Claude turns to him and gives him a sharp point of the finger. 

“And _you _,” his rage now unabated, something ugly crawls out of Claude, “ _I should have killed you at Myrddin. _” Ashe’s eyes grow large, his pupils suddenly small, and he looks as though he’ll cry. Claude hears the younger man gulp pathetically.

He knows they have an audience. The lessening of the noise from the beach tells him as much, and he finds he’s happy about that fact now. He’s going to let them know what it’s like to have prying eyes and ears and have them deal with the fallout. 

Claude doesn’t spare anyone else a glance when he stands and begins walking away with thunderous steps. He may have felt immense gratification from what he just did, but he knows he can’t look at Byleth now. So instead, he walks. He doesn’t know where, but he knows he needs to get away.

All he sees now is red.

\---

He punches the bark of a tree. He does it again. And again. And again. 

He punches until he loses track. Until he stops feeling anything in his hand. Until he bleeds from his knuckles. 

He stops when he thinks he might have broken a bone. He inwardly curses himself, because_ of course _he’s stupid enough to break his own hand out of pure rage. He frowns. He wishes he could have broken his hand from giving Sylvain a beating. 

He breathes sharply, and counts between inhales and exhales to calm himself down again. 

Once he’s done, he gives a long drawn out sigh before turning his back to the tree and leaning on it. 

“Look at you,” he says to himself bitterly, “Losing your temper like that. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a mutiny waiting for you back at camp because you’re so _weak.” _The last word comes out as a soft wheeze and Claude can feel his knees begin to shake. 

No. _No. _He won’t slide down and cry like a child. That would be the final blow to his crumbling self-esteem he isn’t prepared to withstand. He bites his inner lip, hard. 

He won’t cry.

He takes a shaky breath, and wills himself to stand steady. 

The sun is beginning to set, and he knows he has to get back to camp. He half expected to find Pruina, but she hasn’t shown. She’s usually so good at finding him at his worst moments.

But now isn’t the time to think about that. He has to focus on bandaging his bloodied hand. The first steps he takes are wobbly, but eventually he’s able to walk like he wasn’t about to have a mental breakdown. 

He makes it to camp, and by the looks of things most people have already retired in their tents. Good. He doesn’t know what he’d do if he had to face someone. Especially former Blue Lions students. He knows they’ve sworn fealty to him, but they no doubt feel more loyalty towards their fellow Lions rather than him. And he’s just assaulted one of their own. He’s sure encountering one of them now would spell out nothing but trouble. 

Perhaps thinking about them has made the Goddess want to play a cruel trick on him, because when he turns a corner he almost runs into Ingrid. Claude almost feels himself gag when his heart jumps into his throat, and he quickly folds his hands behind his back to hide his bloodied knuckles. He can feel his adrenaline begin to boil because his body thinks there’s going to be a fight. 

Ingrid appraises him, then nods in acknowledgement, “Claude. I’m glad to see you’re doing alright. Please, allow me to apologize for Sylvain’s and Ashe’s actions at the beach on their behalf.”

Claude’s eyebrows raise before he can stop himself, and from his look of surprise Ingrid continues. 

“I don’t know the full context, since they both refuse to tell anyone, but Sylvain insists it was entirely his fault, which isn’t hard to believe honestly. Be rest assured that they don’t blame for anything, no one does. I hope you’ll be able to accept their apology when they eventually muster up the courage to approach you.”

Then, she smiles softly, “You gave Sylvain a really good punch, I’ll have you know. He’s got a nasty bruise on his jaw. And you scared Ashe half to death! I know Sylvain’s a problem child, and I’m sure it was high time someone disciplined him good, but surely you could have gone easy on poor Ashe.” 

She laughs, light and airy, and Claude begins to feel a little lightheaded. Ashe and Sylvain… They… defended him? He was so sure he was going to meet an angry mob when he came back, but instead he sees nothing but understanding in Ingrid’s kind eyes. From what she said, it seems no one actually heard what any one of them said on the cliff. 

And he would like to keep it that way. 

He exhales a breath he didn’t know he was holding and speaks, “...Thank you, Ingrid. I’ll be sure to speak with them to get this scuffle sorted out.” He winks in an attempt to not show any of the tension that’s built up in his body, “Just typical guy nonsense. You know what testosterone does to a man,” The quirk of Ingrid’s lips tell him that she does, “Well, good night. I’m sorry for causing a scene, but it was nothing major. Again, it’ll get sorted out.”

They both nod at each other, and when they walk away Claude feels as though he has to make a conscious effort not to stagger. 

He’s been experiencing far too many conflicting emotions for one day. Right now he just feels empty and aimless, like his body is weighed down and he’s walking uphill. It doesn’t even feel as though he’s actually moving anywhere, just walking in the one spot. He’s exhausted. Both mentally and physically. He wants nothing more than to just hit his head on a pillow and sleep. He doesn’t want to feel any more pesky _emotions._

But he knows he has to take care of his hand. He isn’t even aware of the movements he’s making, but eventually he makes it to the supply tent. He moves aside the tarp in front of the entrance and he’s greeted by a flurry of familiar white hair and hears hasty movements as someone hides something behind their back. 

It’s Lysithea. Claude makes sure to fold his arms behind his back again. 

They stand there, and Lysithea narrows her eyes. 

“Claude, what are you doing here?”

He snorts when he retorts, making sure not to show how tired he feels, “What are _you _doing here? It’s my turn to check the supplies,” it’s a lie that comes out his mouth easily enough. 

The mage shuffles on her feet, “I’m… just getting some herbs for tea.”

Claude quirks a brow. From the recent reveal of her relationship with Cyril and the fact she’s blushing slightly, he knows exactly what’s going on. He smiles.

“My, look at you. Getting some contraceptive herbs, are you? I guess you’re really all grown-up!”

Lysithea face becomes a deep scarlet, and she puts her hand in front of her to show Claude that’s exactly what she has in her hands. She’s pouting, looking every bit like the child she refuses to be treated as.

“You insolent cur,” her words are harsh but she says it through a sigh, “But I suppose at least I’m an adult rather than a boy who picks fights on beaches.”

Claude shrugs and ignores her jab at him, “At least you’re responsible about it. Just make sure you’re quiet about it, these tents are awfully thin. Wouldn’t want to give your fellow soldiers nightmares because the only thing they can hear in the darkness is two kiddos going at it.”

Now she looks even more petulant. Before she can make a response, Claude finds himself speaking before he realizes it, “Does he... Make you happy?”

Claude may be exhausted and confused, and his body may feel like a sack of bricks, but he cares more for his fellow Deer than anything else. He was confused and jittery with Ingrid but he can feel the tension leaving his body with Lysithea. 

And he feels as though he has a duty as their past House leader to at least make sure she’s happy.

Lysithea blinks at him owlishly before her expression is filled with warmth, her furious blush replaced by a small tinge of pink. 

“Yes,” she says, her voice affectionate, “Yes he does. Once… this is all over, and if we all make it out, I know I won’t live for very long. I want to be able to live as much as I can with what little time I have left here.”

He can hear her voice hitch and it’s obvious Lysithea is trying her hardest to not cry in front of him. He gives her a sad smile, and pat her on the head with his non-bloodied hand. 

“Glad to hear it, Lysithea. I respect Cyril and I consider him a close friend, but I’d give him a stern talking to if he wasn’t treating you right,” he winks, “And you know you can trust big brother Claude for whenever you need help with anything, right? Stories of my legendary wit and wisdom mean everyone always come to old Claude for advice.”

Lysithea giggles, and the sound makes him forget about the trials and tribulations the day was filled with, if only for a moment. She looks up to him and gives him a genuine smile, before nodding her affirmation and leaving. 

She looks as though she’s still on the cusp on crying, but whether from happiness or regret he doesn’t know. 

And he’s aware he’ll probably never know. Those tears are meant for Cyril, not anyone else.

Finally alone, Claude can begin actually patching his hand. He experimentally flexes his fingers, the blood has since clotted, and the movement bites slightly. But he supposes since he can move his knuckles and fingers it means nothing is actually broken. Regardless, he’ll have Marianne take a look at it. Eventually. 

He gingerly dabs himself with a solution that prevents infection, and it stings. The sensation makes his body tense and he hisses out a sound of discomfort. 

He continues dabbing, and his knees buckle slightly. His breath becomes raspy. Eyes half-lidded. 

He blinks. He jaw tenses and he stops breathing. It feels as though his entire body is shaking as his eyes slowly, reluctantly looks down on himself.

His pants are tented. 

He’s hard. 

He lets out a shaky breath and Claude feels only intense frustration and fear begin to boil inside of him. 

No.

_Nononononononononono._

He can’t be _hard _from something like fucking dabbing himself with medicinal solution. That’s fucking absurd. That’s—That’s impossible. There’s nothing arousing about what he just did, he’s been feeling too many emotions today. It’s been so... So _confusing _lately. His body is just confused.

_Hah._

As if on cue, the whisper returns and Claude whimpers in a panic. 

_What type of king allows himself to become aroused from that? What’s next, you’ll ask the enemy to skewer you because you like the pain?_

He brings both hands to his temples and closes his eyes tightly shut. His throat is beginning to feel tight and constrictive. 

He breathes becomes more erratic and unstable and he hastily tries to get the bandage on his hand. It’s messy, and poorly done, and various medical supplies fall on the floor.

_Maybe you should run to Byleth and let her degrade you again, you’d like that wouldn’t you? You’ll never achieve your naive dream. You’re just her bitch. _

Claude nearly trips over himself as he sprints out of the tent, he doesn’t even know if he’s still hard or if anyone witnesses him dash around the camp like a madman. He just knows he has to _get out._

He stumbles into his tent, the momentum of his sprint making him fall over and grunt in pain. 

He’ll deal with this tomorrow. He can’t think about this now. He _won’t. _He needs rest. He just needs to sleep. Reset his body and he’ll be fucking _normal. _

He only removes his outer jacket and flounders onto his bed. It’s not a very good bed, its sheets and cushions are stiff and old. But right now, after feeling the full effects of his exhaustion, it’s a haven. He’s still breathing heavily when he closes his eyes, willing himself to sleep.

A voice echoes throughout his mind.

_All she did that night was degrade you and you let her._

He doesn’t dream that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I, uh, hope the tonal shift wasn't too jarring lol. I just REALLY like the idea of Claude becoming extremely self-conscious about what happened last chapter and figured it was a perfect topic for a second and third chapter. This was initially meant to be one chapter but I decided to split it in two. Also everyone getting together and being bfs/gfs will be relevant, I promise. :)
> 
> If you like, please consider writing a comment! Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Please tell me if there's any grammar/spelling issues!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by my sis. 
> 
> Blease enjoy!

Claude wakes up groggy, having to blink several times to to focus his blurry vision. Perhaps sleeping with most of his stuffy clothes on wasn’t the greatest idea, considering he doesn’t feel as though he’s slept a wink. He rubs his eyes and let out a long drawn out sigh. 

When he sits up, he smells an aroma he’s intimately familiar with. Looking at his side confirms his suspicions. 

Almyran pine needle tea. And next to it are two slices of toast with some beans on the side. 

He can see the steam emanating from the drink. It’s still warm. Glancing further to the side he can see a folded piece of paper. Likely a letter. He slowly, almost hesitantly — which is something he internally scolds himself over — picks up the letter to unfold it. 

It’s neat and impeccable handwriting, one he remembers joking about, back in his school days, since it was apparent an ex-merc had received etiquette lessons on how to write properly. 

_ Claude, _

_ Unfortunately I can’t give you your favourite meal, but I can at least give you your favourite tea! I know you’ve been exceptionally stressed lately, and I hope I can relieve some of it, no matter how small. Know that everyone here cares for you immensely (me moreso than the rest, I’m allowed to say that right?) and if you ever need a shoulder to lean there is certainly no shortage of willing individuals for you (but I’m the most willing of them all). _

_ If it’s alright with you, when we set up our next camp this evening, may I take a look at your hand? _

_ Love you, _

_ Byleth _

He sighs again, feeling guilty over clearly worrying everyone. Of course he’d have to deal with the fallout of punching Sylvain, but he still feels as though he’s in the right. He just… doesn’t want to actually explain to Byleth why it happened because that would mean having The Talk about his… preferences in bed. 

_ Deplorable preferences. _

He winces. What _ preferences? _ He’s absolutely not into _ that. _It was a fluke. Totally a fluke. 

He eats his breakfast. The toast is burnt. The beans undercooked. But the tea is perfect. 

Claude wolfs it all down regardless.

After that, he puts on his outer jacket and gloves, not wanting to attract even more attention from his bitched bandaging job. He probably slipped it out of the blanket at some point while he was sleeping if Byleth was able to notice it. 

Standing up, he quickly takes a look at his reflection in a broken mirror he was able to dig out of some rubble. He looks awful. Hair disheveled, moreso from just sleeping, eyes red as if he did cry with dark rims around them and lips dry. He sighs, _ again, _and washes his face with what little water he has left in his snakeskin pouch. He makes sure to wear a glove over his damaged hand.

Ready as he’ll ever be, he looks at his tent flap as if stepping outside will lead him into the mouth of a dragon.

He grits his teeth, “Stop acting like a child,” he harshly admonishes himself, “You’re better than this. Get it together.”

It’s a new day. He knows they’ll be packing and heading to their new destination. A new camp. A new start. He won’t allow himself to get overwhelmed again. He won’t. He _ can’t. _

He steps out of the tent. 

\---

Turns out stepping outside did indeed mean stepping inside a dragon’s mouth, because Lysithea is standing outside, hands on her hips and foot tapping on the floor. Pouting like she usually does whenever someone calls her a child. 

“Claude. Why was the supply tent a mess this morning?”

He schools his expression to make himself appear cool and casual, rather than internally screaming at himself, “You went to get more contraceptives? Did Cyril get morning wood?”

It gets the reaction he wants, as she splutters over her words. Claude takes her moment of distraction to continue, “Couldn’t tell you why the supply tent was a mess because I dunno either. Something must have gotten into it, a rodent perhaps?” And with that, he escapes by walking away. Not _ speed _walking. Just walking.

He walks far enough so that the mage is out of sight and begins to dismantle a random tent. Making himself less noticeable. Feign normalcy. If there was one thing Claude von Riegen was good at, it was feigning normalcy. He’s just been having a few off days in a row, is all. Though, considering no one’s approached him about his mad dash last evening he assumes no one actually witnessed him. He still feels tired and inwardly he hopes this day won’t have as much emotional conflict as the last. He isn’t sure how much longer he can deal with those fucking whispers.

He’s about to pick up a large wooden pole when he hears someone tut behind him. 

“If you use your back to pick that up, you’ll break your spine. Use your legs.”

Claude looks over his shoulder, making sure he has his usual disarming smile on his face, “Heyo Cyril, I see you’re hard as work as usual.”

The sniper nods, “Bend your knees rather than your waist. I’ll help.”

“Ah, my man. What would I do without you?”

The two of them go on either side of the front and back tips of the log and pick it up, Claude giving off a grunt because _ wow this is a lot heavier than I thought. _

They eventually manage to get the log into a cart, which is pulled by abandoned workhorse they picked up after discovering a destroyed farm, with a lot of stumbling on Claude’s part. Cyril, with his experience of menial labour, is clearly in his element. 

Claude gives an over exaggerated sigh and stretch after they’re done, “Whew! That was harder work than some of the battles we’ve had! I would have become a cripple if you didn’t come and tell me to use my leg muscles instead.” He winks, “You just saved the future king of Almyra. Remind me to plan a feast in your honour sometime.”

Cyril smiles and there’s a glint of mischief in his eyes, “You’ll be planning an awful lot of feasts with the amount of times I’ve saved you and your wyvern from getting shot down.”

Claude puts his hand over his heart and does a theatrical gasp in mock offense. 

“You wound me, Cyril! I’ll have you know insulting me is akin to treason!”

They fall into easy conversation after that, and Claude internally thanks whatever goddess may be around because Cyril doesn’t ask about the beach incident. He likes Cyril. The other Almyran native always stayed out of other people’s business.

They continue taking down tents and lugging around large equipment, when they eventually do finish and they’re ready to start moving Claude asks a question out of genuine curiosity and to continue feigning normalcy; because unlike Cyril, Claude likes to get into other people’s business.

“This may be churlish to ask, and you don’t have to answer me if you don’t want to, but how _ did _you and Lysithea become an item?”

Cyril rubs the back of his neck out of embarrassment, “Aha, well, it started when she taught me how to read and write. Spent a lot of time together, got close and it went on from there. Just a natural progression of things, I guess.”

“You know,” Cyril continues, “Seteth once told me to think of what type of future I see for myself, and to think about how I could achieve that future. I didn’t understand the question at first, because I figured I’d follow Lady Rhea forever since she was the first person to give me a purpose. But… But I think I get it now. Lysithea is to me what your dream is to you, I — I think so, anyway. She makes me want to better myself, like another sense of purpose in life. I want to see some sort of future with her, so I wanna work for that."

He suddenly looks embarrassed, and averts his gaze from Claude's, "I dunno… it's kinda hard to explain." Cyril says.

Claude huffs a small laugh and slings his arm over Cyril's shoulder, making the younger individual fumble slightly.

"Your wording might need some work, my man, but you're a bonafide romantic." He smirks, "perhaps you should read some sappy romance novels. You might be able to find the right words to express yourself."

"Don't fill his head with your childish ideas, Claude! Honestly."

Looking behind him is the object of Cyril's romantic affections. Claude doesn't miss how the younger man's face lights up instantly. Cyril had always been a standoffish, and a bit awkward, but seeing him smile as if Lysithea were the sun makes Claude's heart feels warm. 

He lets go of Cyril's shoulder and the sniper makes his way to give a kiss on Lysithea's cheek. She leaned in before his lips even touched her, clearly anticipating his move. They're tender with each other, and the scene is enough to make one forget they're in the middle of an unmerciful war that's currently ravaging the continent. It's all so sweet Claude thinks he might get a cavity.

The textbook example of a sappy, lovey dovey couple. 

He wonders what he and Byleth look to other people. 

_ Like a woman and her dog. _

His jaw tenses. It's too early for this and he won't subject the couple in front of him to his failings. He bids them goodbye after making a fake gagging sound at their display of public affection which promptly makes Lysithea threaten him. 

Moving further ahead he sees the camp is more or less completely packed up. He nods to various passing soldiers as he makes his way to the front where he's greeted by Byleth.

She lightly touches his bicep, "I hope your breakfast was satisfactory. Did you… read my letter?"

He doesn't know why his throat sudden feels dry, so he makes a conscious effort to ignore it.

"I did. Sorry for worrying you."

She shakes her head, "you've nothing to apologize for. We can talk about it when we set up our next camp. Oh! That reminds me, we used that oasis we went to yesterday as a bathing station after you… left, but I've managed to collect enough water in a tankard so you can have your bath." Her eyes are soft and kind and Claude feels his heart skipping several beats. 

He responds by giving a smile, trying to feign normalcy once more, "Well, shall we head off? It's about time we stretched our legs, wouldn't do us any good if we got lazy huh?"

She gives her own smile, kissing him lightly on the lips and Claude has to stop himself from leaning in too much and falling. Once he regains himself, he bellows out a large shout to alert everyone it's time to move. Pruina flies overhead, she's able to scout ahead without the need of a rider. 

They walk.

Claude tries not to show his excitement over the prospect of getting a bath later and his heart sings over the fact that Byleth had thought of him in that way.

And surprisingly, the whispers don't bite at him for the time being. 

\---

The walk for a long time, crossing the bridge that they have fought so hard over. Claude doesn’t miss how Ingrid looks so melancholy as they step over their old battlefield and he knows all the former Blue Lions students must be thinking about Dimitri. From the periphery of his vision Claude occasionally sees hints of red and grey but whenever he turns both Sylvain and Ashe are nowhere to be seen. 

They’re pretty good at hiding, he’ll give them that much. That must mostly be Ashe’s talent showing through, since he used to be a thief. 

He’s glad that they’re making themselves scarce around him. For as much guilt as he feels for making a scene — _ is _it guilt he’s feeling? Or is that he just doesn’t want to be seen as weak and submissive? He’s not sure himself — he’s still harbouring righteous anger towards them. He doesn’t think he would be able to resist punching one of them again if he saw them again so soon. 

He wonders what Judith would say if she could see the sorry state he’s currently in. She’d probably say the term ‘boy’ even more than she usually does. Because that’s what he is. A boy. _ A boy who can’t possibly achieve his naive dream because he’s a weak and pathetic little- _

His thoughts are cut off when he hears the loud thunderous flapping of wings descend upon him. 

“Pruina!” he yells.

The wyvern lands and Claude almost falls over from the sheer power of her wings causing gusts of winds all over the place. The wyvern shifts from one foot to the other excitedly, and grunts out several happy grunts. 

Claude places his hands on her large neck and pats her down, “What’s up, girl? What did you see?”

Another smaller wyvern ridden by Cyril lands to the ground and he promptly answers Claude’s question, “A farm! There’s a farm up ahead. I’ve done some preliminary searches and there doesn’t seem to be anyone around. But there’s supplies we can raid.” 

He unmounts his wyvern and enthusiastically approaches Byleth and Claude, “There’s sheep there! Live ones! And other livestock we can make use of.”

Claude doesn’t try hiding the large grin that forms on his face, “_ Finally _ we can have some meat again. Cyril, I could kiss you right about now.”

“Heh,” the sniper responds, “I’ll have to pass on that. These lips are meant for Lys.”

Claude snorts at that, and Byleth steps forward for her own inquiry. 

“How about the estate itself? Is it intact and large enough for it to be our base of operations for the time being?”

Cyril nods, “There’s plenty of barns to take refuge in. Though some buildings are a little beaten up.”

Byleth gets a grin almost as large as Claude’s and she looks at him with eyes that show him only anticipation. 

They both nod to each other in an unspoken agreement.

They’ll be staying at the farm. And have a feast, if Claude has anything to say about it.

\---

Setting up what tents they need and making the farm their base of operations is quick and meticulous work as everyone develops an almost infectious sort of zeal from the excitement of finding an entire farm _ with _supplies to stay at. Claude can already tell that having to leave will be difficult. 

It’s only when they find the bodies of the owners, haphazardly buried with hay in one of the many barns, does the eagerness die down; if only for a moment. Three men and two women, all of whom have their heads cleaved in by what looks like an axe. 

Claude had shifted around awkwardly when Marianne had relayed that they had been dead for at least a week, and tearfully asked that they’d been given a proper burial. 

He nods when she sniffles, “I’ll leave whoever you think is best suited for that in charge of that, then,” he said quietly, gently rubbing her bicep in an attempt to comfort her. Marianne nods in confirmation and leaves, though her steps are slow, as if she’s still processing the situation.

When he steps out he runs his hand through his hair and sighs heavily. Byleth joins him in leaning against the barn’s abused wall. 

“At least there were no children,” she says solemnly. He says nothing to that, and she continues, “They’ve been dead for a while so it’s safe to say whatever bandits that were here have left. But I’ll tell everyone to keep their guard up.”

He says nothing again and Byleth merely goes on her toes to give him a peck on the cheek before leaving. 

Claude only leaves the barn when he sees Raphael and Lorenz approaching with shovels and gloomy faces.

\---

Camp set up and bodies buried, life is brought back into the group once more. A thorough exploration yields that there still many supplies left, and several people, probably the bandits, had obviously used this place as a makeshift home if the mess in the kitchen is anything to go by. Claude makes a point to avoid looking at any memorabilia of the people who are now buried, not wanting to feel same gnawing guilt he felt when he saw those children's drawings several weeks ago. 

“Bandits,” Leonie spat, nothing but venom in her voice, “I’ll kill them all.”

Claude continues to awkwardly shuffle through the food thrown across the kitchen when he hears a light tap on his back, turning around he sees Cyril.

“Byleth wants to see you,” he says, and Claude has to make sure he doesn’t gulp nervously in front of Cyril, “She’s in one of the barns, the one across from the stables.”

“Thanks Cyril, I’ll start heading over there,” He hates how his voice suddenly sounds dry.

And he also hates how his steps are slow and heavy. 

“She just wants to take a look at your hand, Claude, what are you so afraid of?” he chastises himself, “You’re the leader of the Alliance, and leaders shouldn’t get scared when they talk to their girlfriends, dammit.” Now standing in front of the barn he pinches the bridge of his nose and counts his breaths, cursing his inability to gain any sort of confidence for… what? What exactly is going to happen? She’s just going to look at his hand like she asked in her letter, he’s not going to talk about _ feelings. _

He’s about to admonish himself again when there’s sudden pressure on his back and he’s pushed inside of the barn by a great force. He stumbles and trips over his own legs, quickly turning his head he sees Pruina before she _closes the door on him with her mouth._

What the fuck. What the fuck?!

He must have yelled that part aloud, because next he’s hearing giggling echoing throughout the barn. Looking around he sees Byleth perched on top of a pile of hay, with some medical supplies by her side. 

He scoffs, “Considering what we found in the last barn I’m not sure sitting there is a good idea.” Seeing her face drop into an ugly, twisted expression he decides to drop the sarcasm. “Sorry. Just... feels weird playing in a barn after burying those folks.”

Her expression softens, now replaced with something softer and understanding. “I know. But continuously thinking about that will do no one good. Besides, I thought what with the amount of time you’ve slept in barns with Pruina by now the familiar scenery might… allow you to be calm.” She averts her eyes slightly, a blush forming on her cheeks out of embarrassment, “But you’re absolutely right too. That was… certainly poor planning on my part.”

Claude stands and shrugs, hoping any nervousness he may be showing is because of the potential of finding another corpse under the hay. When he reaches to where she is sitting he suspiciously pokes at the haystack with his foot, which rewards him with an annoyed huff on Byleth’s part. When he finally does sit down next to her, he quickly removes his glove to give her his hand.

_ Like a good dog, _a whisper in his head mocks.

He was wondering when he’d have to deal with this bullshit again. He ignores it, as best as he can, anyway. He doesn’t look at Byleth, instead opting to stare at the wall as if the chipped paint holds the secrets to the universe. He continues to pointedly not look at her even after she hisses a sound of discontent when she takes his bandages off and looks at his knuckles. 

The medical solution doesn’t sting as much as last time, which Claude is infinitely thankful for but also tries to reason with himself that _ no _ he wouldn’t have gotten a hard on even if it did sting as much because that was a fucking _ fluke. _

She cleans his wound in silence. She properly bandages him in silence. He knows she’s curious, no doubt anyone would be curious, but she never asks him about the source of his injury which makes him feel even more anxious than he already is. He knows that if she does ask him that he’ll answer her like the _ good dog _ he infuriatingly is and he hates it.

He blinks. Answering questions is a sign of weakness and submission now?

Before he can let that thought stew in his mind any longer, Byleth lets go of his hand and pats on something. Finally mustering up the courage to even look at her, he sees her patting on her lap. 

“You look tired,” she says, “How about you have a nap on my lap, hmm?”

He feels a longing in his chest and heat crawl up his face, and before he can think about what he’s doing his traitorous body moves on its own. Next thing Claude realizes is that his cheek is resting against her thigh and there’s a hand stroking through his hair.

_ An obedient dog. _

He swallows and closes his eyes, and absentmindedly kneads the plump flesh of her thighs with his hand as he feels soft fingers now begin to braid a lock of hair. He feels both uncomfortable and comfortable with her touches, her caresses make him feel as though he's floating on a cloud, but his skin feels itchy. Almost as if there's something crawling inside of him desperately trying to tear itself out. And when it does, he'll pop like a balloon and fall from his cloud, rapidly descending to the earth where he’ll be a miserable speck of dust.

This is normal. It’s _ normal _ for a man to be in his lover’s embrace like this. He’s not being _ weak. _

He’s shaken out of his frantic thoughts when he hears Byleth speak through a grin. 

“Why are you squirming? I thought you wanted a nap.”

He hadn’t noticed he was squirming, but he knows he’s been clenching his jaw. And bobbing his throat. And breathing rapidly through his nose. He keeps his eyes shut.

“I know that you want to know why I punched Sylvain. Just ask already.” It comes out a lot harsher than he intended. He feels his pulse quicken over the possibility of actually talking about the event, because that would surely mean talking about everything else. About his preferences-not-preferences and he doesn’t want to because that means he’s weak and—

He only hears a small hum and feels finger descend from his hair to his beard. 

“I won’t ask. I’ll wait for you until you’re ready to talk. I won’t force you into doing anything you’re uncomfortable with. So I’ll wait for as long as you need.” 

He feels his throat constrict as he clenches his jaw harder, not knowing whether to be relieved or angry. 

Angry at _ what _? Wasn’t avoiding this topic exactly what he wanted? Why does everything he feels have to be so fucking conflicting all the time? 

He doesn’t answer her, afraid his voice will merely come out as a whimper. Rather they stay there in silence, with Byleth apparently oblivious to his internal conflict. Gentle circles are rubbed on his cheek, before her hand slithers down to his neck. 

“Do you remember what you said to me, way back when?” She asks, mirth in her voice. 

Claude doesn’t know where she’s going with this, but answer anyway, throat slightly dry, “...You’re going to need to be more specific than that, Teach.”

“Aw, you don’t remember? It was such a good line too.” She laughs slightly, “Something about me grasping you. Grasping your hand, your heart… your _ neck _.” She hand then slithers down to his nape. 

He… did say something like, didn’t he?

_ So you were always weak, _the whisper sounds like an echo in a cavernous cave that keeps reverberating, taunting him.

He then becomes intensely aware of the hand on his neck, lightly tracing his throat, fingernails scraping at his skin.

Shit. _ Shit. _

Him clenching his jaw, his throat bobbing, him squirming and his general shyness. Of course, _ of course _ she would interpret that as him getting hot and bothered. Is she actually going to grasp his neck? To dominant him? _ To control him? _

It feels as though water is filling his ears, where everything becomes clogged, disorientating, dizzy.

_ All she did that night was degrade and you let her. _

The hand removes itself from his neck and he can just barely hear Byleth’s worried voice. 

“C-Claude… what’s wrong?”

He didn’t realize he was hyperventilating. 

He practically leaps off her lap and stumbles on his feet. His vision is suddenly unfocused and he sees a blur on the periphery of his vision. 

“Claude, look at me. Take deep breaths.”

Her hands are about to cup his cheeks and the only thing that floods into Claude’s mind is _ get out. _

“_ Don’t fucking touch me!” _

Realistically, it’s only about a minute of Claude standing there breathing heavily. But it feels like it lasts an agonizing decade, as if he was frozen on the spot; a fossil lost in the sands of time. 

His breathing stills, and he realizes he had slapped Byleth’s hands away and yelled at her. Chancing a glance at her, she looks as awful as he feels. Byleth moves slowly, as if he’s a scared animal she’s trying to calm down. 

He might as well be one at this point. 

“Claude—”

His voice is wobbly and wet, “I’m—I’m sorry, I need — I need to get some fresh air.” Before he can see her reaction, he turns and sprints out of the barn.

He doesn’t hear her come after him. 

He doesn’t know how long he runs for, but eventually he’s wheezing. He doubts that he wasn’t witnessed during this nighttime sprint this time, considering he knows Byleth ordered patrols to keep a lookout for potential bandits. He’ll have to deal with the fallout of that later. 

He’ll have to deal with the fallout of a _ lot _of incidents later. 

He puts the heel of his palms on his temples and hisses out a frustrated noise, “What the fuck is wrong with you? What’s going on with you?” he rasps, and digs his palms into his temples further. He eventually drops his hands from his face, and counts his breaths for what feels like the umpteenth time in merely a week. 

_ You’ll never achieve your dream from being so weak. From her making you submit. _

Never had he wished for a fucking off button for his thoughts more than this day. He slowly looks up at the sky, and it’s starless. He glumly wonders if the stars were once his dreams, glittering still in the sky. Those were his dreams that were roughly pulled out from the sky and now he’s staring up at an empty, black canvas wondering where the fuck he went wrong.

“How poetic of you,” he mumbles to himself in a morose tone, “I should write that down in a book sometime.”

He straightens his back, wipes his forehead with the back of his hand and he emits a long, deep sigh.

His dreams, huh. 

It's an awfully lofty one. But he thinks there's a way to make this night slightly less unbearable, and for him to work on achieving his dream. 

He walks to his desired destination.

\---

He's in one of the few tents they actually set up, there's a large table with a large table with the map of the region splayed on it. On it, are various small figurines meant to represent both ally and enemy units. Tactics. He'll plan out tactics. That'll help his dream and make him useful as a leader. 

He tries. He tries to plan a new formation but the end result are papers, scribbled notes and poorly done drawings strewn across the table and map. 

_ Claude von Riegen, _ an ear-piercing sound reverberates around his head, _ famed schemer tactician done in by his deplorable preferences in bed. Done in by his lover controlling and leading him. _

He was a fool. A _ fool _ to even think he would be able to get anything done. Inwardly, he knows he didn't come here to get something done, he knows he wouldn't have been able to have some epiphany and make a grandiose plan that leads to their victory in this war. He knows that. He came here for a distraction, to make him forget not moments ago he literally ran away from his girlfriend with his tail tucked between his legs. 

He didn't want to be seen as weak. To be seen as malleable and easy to manipulate. But surely his mad dash showed everyone just that. Why was everything working against him?

He’s about to pinch the bridge of his nose — he feels as though he’s being doing that far too often lately, among other things, — when the cloth concealing the tent's entrance is thrown back, and a faint, hazy light from the moon begins to filter inside.

Turning around he’s met with… 

A plank of wood?

He blinks and then rubs his eyes, and realizes it’s someone holding the wood in front of their face. He sees a hint of red hair peeking out. 

He thinks back to the beach incident.

_ “I don’t care if you have to hide under a plank of wood in battle. The second I see your face I’ll fucking kill you.” _

Sylvain. 

He… didn’t actually think the guy would do it, but he supposes Sylvain is anything but predictable. He just stares, unsure of how to properly react to this. He thinks he should laugh, or… _ something. _He feels as mentally exhausted at the evening before. Too many things have happened today. 

“Do you want me to grovel? Because I can grovel.”

Yeah, that’s definitely Sylvain.

Claude sighs through his nose and rolls his shoulders. Right. Time to deal with whatever this is, hopefully it won’t lead to another assault or mental breakdown. 

“You know,” Claude clears his throat when he realizes his damn voice makes him sound like he’s about to cry and tries again, “You know, you don’t actually have to hide under a plank of wood. I won’t kill you.” The ‘_ but I still want to punch you again,’ _is left unsaid.

The wood is lowered slowly and hesitantly, so slowly in fact that Claude has half a mind to rip it out of Sylvain’s hands. When it is fully lowered, after what feels like a damn year, he flinches slightly seeing Sylvain’s bruise dancing on his cheek. It does look pretty bad. It’s a great purple welt that will only deepen in the coming week. It looks like a spreading disease. Inwardly, he knows the actual injury itself is mostly superficial, predominantly a surface wound. The real wound is likely the one within, a feeling of betrayal, that feeling of broken trust. 

He clenches his fists, what _ betrayal _? Sylvain was entirely in the wrong. If there’s anyone that’s feeling broken trust it’s Claude. 

Claude sees Sylvain’s eyes flick at his fists and he tries to relax his hands to avoid making the man bringing that maddening plank of wood to his face again. 

With the wood finally put down, Sylvain awkwardly rubs the back of his neck, “Y-You know, the groveling is still an option. If that’ll make you forgive me.” 

Claude supposes he should feel some sort of righteous indignation at Sylvain, and that he _ should _ make him grovel. But most of all he just wants this conversation to be over. 

“Where’s Ashe?” he asks, wary with how fast he spoke and the tone of his voice. If he appears anxious or spoke too fast he’ll look too _ weak. _

Hand now removed from his neck, Sylvain rubs his hands together anxiously, “Oh, he’s making himself sparse. He feels as though you’ll definitely make good on your threat on killing him.”

“So you’re the sacrificial lamb,” Claude snorts, “You’re here to test the waters, is that it? To make you can safely show your face in front of me?”

Sylvain licks his lips, and then nods falteringly. 

“Well… When you put it that way we don’t sound very noble about our intentions, haha.” His laugh fizzles out, probably because Claude doesn’t join in and keeps his expression stony. 

This time, the red-head sighs heavily before clapping his hands together, as if in prayer. 

“We’re sorry. _ I’m _really sorry for pulling that shit in the beach. That—That was completely uncalled for on our part. If there’s anything I—we can we do to make it up we’ll do it. Like I said I can grovel—”

Claude waves his hand to make Sylvain stop talking, there’s a question that’s been gnawing at him. 

“Why did you tell Ashe about it?” He hates how defeated he sounds, “Anyone with sense would know that was an invasion of privacy.” He feels a vague sense of justice at the way Sylvain’s face falls and he continues, “But I guess I don’t have privacy since everyone_ fucking heard us _,” his voice becomes razor-sharp and it almost looks as if Sylvain got cut with the way he flinches. 

Sylvain looks supremely uncomfortable now. Good. Claude isn’t entirely sure he’ll forgive him just yet. 

“I-I… I’ve really got no excuse for that, man. I was talking with Ashe when he was recruited, catching up and all that stuff. It just… came out, and I know, I know that’s a terrible excuse and I don’t expect you to just come and forgive me. Which is why I want you to know I’ll do anything to show you that I’m serious that I’m sorry.”

Sylvain shifts on his feet nervously, and he swallows before continuing. 

“I saw you running earlier, you looked, uh, kinda bad. T-Thought I could help you out a bit.”

Claude appraises him, and the red-head cowers under his gaze. He still feels as though he hates Syvain, but the feeling becomes mixed with something… warmer in his gut at the thought Sylvain gathered enough courage to apologize and offer help because it looked like he needed help, spurred into action to assist Claude.

_ You’re so weak. How can you lead by example when you can’t fuck your girlfriend properly? _

The sudden intrusion in his mind makes him reel back slightly, and Sylvain must think he’s about to fall because he runs up to try to steady him, making Claude slap his hands away. 

“And,” Claude says in an attempt to save face from his small stumble, “how _ exactly _do you think you can help me?” The word ‘help’ really shouldn’t be that hard to get out, but it feels like he has to rip it out of his throat. 

Sylvain, now not knowing what to do with his hands lets them fall to his side, gives him a weak smile, “I’d say I can be a shoulder to lean on but, well, considering my recent track record I can see why you want nothing to do with me.” He blows a short breath and bounds his hand behind his head, probably in an effort to make himself look casual, “I didn’t really think this redemption arc through, huh?”

Despite himself, Claude actually gives an amused huff. Perhaps the recent events he’s been subjected to has made go insane if he’s going to laugh at this. 

Sylvain, perhaps given renewed vigor because Claude reacted positively, continues.

“If it makes you feel better you can give me another whack on my other cheek. If anything I ought to keep some symmetry on my face, yeah? Chicks dig symmetry.”

Claude has to stop himself from giving another amused laugh. It’s official. He really has lost it if he’s going to laugh at that, “It’s fine,” he says, “I won’t punch you again.”

Sylvain suddenly pouts, "I’m trying to help out here! Figured I was doing pretty good here but you turn me down! Do you wake up everyday thinking 'what dream of Sylvains can I tear down today?'" He flails his arms theatrically, clearly hoping to get another laugh or huff.

Claude doesn’t give him that satisfaction, not quite willing to let the man off the hook just yet. What Sylvain did will require more from his so-called ‘redemption arc’ but he finds he’s not quite in the mood to fully deal with him just yet, not with him clearly not in the right state of mind with him almost laughing at everything _ because clearly he has fucking lost it. _

“Sylvain,” he says after clearing his throat, “I wasn’t aware you became the court jester, but I see the role suits you.” And because he mostly wants to end the conversation already he adds, “It’s been a long day and we both need sleep. You can grovel all you like tomorrow and maybe I’ll forgive you.”

Sylvain’s about to say something but Claude cuts him off, “And if anyone, _ anyone _eavesdrops on me or Byleth again I’ll start holding public executions. That clear enough for you?”

The man in question does an exaggerated salute, lips quirked in a lopsided grin, “Aye, aye, captain!” He turns to leave, but he gives Claude one more look over his shoulder, “I mean it when I say I’m sorry. We both are. I consider you a close friend and believe me when I say that hurting you was our very last thing on our minds.”

Claude merely nods at that, not entirely sure how to react to it. Sylvain leaves and he’s left to his own thoughts that are thankfully completely empty right now. 

He doesn’t think he’s ready to forgive either of them yet. That will take time. 

...But Sylvain had approached him precisely because he believed he needed help, and tried to assist in his own unorthodox way, even if it’s clear he didn’t really think about _ how _ he’ll help. Which means it was a spur of the moment decision on Sylvain’s part. 

And Claude… finds he appreciates the sentiment.

A few minutes after Sylvain leaves, Claude tries to clean the mess he made on the table. He supposes he should sleep as well, and to leave the strife between him and Byleth to tomorrow. 

He leaves the tent.

\---

Claude doesn’t get very far, considering he’s currently being dragged somewhere by an overgrown lizard. 

“P-Pruina! Let go of me—!”

The wyvern doesn’t let go, moving him roughly with his sleeve in her jaw. Claude eventually gives up, deciding it’s not worth it to be dragged in the dirt by the much stronger animal. 

Pruina leads him to an abandoned windmill, it has a large hole in the wall big enough for a wyvern to walk in. Probably got blasted by some Hellfire. Pruina mercifully lets go of his sleeve when he thinks the material is about to break, only for her teeth to snatch onto his cape so that she lifts him off the ground. He’s about to struggle with renewed vigor when he’s unceremoniously dropped in a dirty haystack. 

Before he can struggle out of the hay while spitting some of it out of his mouth at the same time, and angrily yell at his wyvern he stops when he hears a familiar girly voice. 

“Well, well, well, Claude. We meet again.” 

He narrows his eyes and he sees her sitting directly across from him, bathed in the pale moonlight that filters through the giant hole in the wall. Though she’s facing away from him, all he can see is her pink hair splayed over the back of the chair. 

“Hilda,” he wheezes, “What the fuck is going on?”

“What’s going _ on,” _she tries to make for a dramatic scene, since she attempts to turn her chair with her feet in the middle of speaking. She’s probably replaying a scene she’s read in a novel somewhere, but the chair is clearly one that’s meant to be stationary, rather than rotate. She blows out an annoyed breath before eventually giving up and grabbing on to the armrests to pick it up and turns it around properly. 

“Anyway! What’s going on is!” She repeats when he sits back on the chair, and now facing him she gives him an accusatory point of the finger, “You’re an idiot, and you made Byleth sad. And after all that trouble little ol’ me went through to get you two together!”

Claude’s about to stand up when the weight of Pruina’s food lands on his abdomen and he gives off an undignified _oof _as she keeps him in place_. _He makes a mental note to purposefully eat her favourite fish in front of her without sharing as punishment once this farce is over.

He wheezes again, “W-Well, honestly, I’d say you didn’t do much of anything Hilda. You just got me to speak with three idiots. _ Also, _since when did you and Pruina get buddy-buddy?! I’m feeling awfully betrayed here!” 

She tuts and waggles her index finger at him.

“Dearest Pruina is clearly just much as a romantic as the rest of us,” Then she leans in and whispers conspiratorially, as if there’s a chance anyone would hear them, “And, I think she can, like, sense all the pent up frustration everyone has. She’s probably annoyed with smelling all those ruts that must happen every evening! She’s been an invaluable help to me because she can lead me to whoever needs help with their love troubles.”

Her eyes widen at the last part, and she clasps her mouth shut with her hands.

Claude narrows his eyes and fixes Hilda with a disapproving look.

“...Have you been playing matchmaker with the entire army?”

Hilda splutters out a loud and very deliberate cough. 

“With my _ wyvern?” _

Hilda splutters out a loud and very deliberate coughing fit.

Once she’s done with the theatrics and hits her chest a few times with her chest, she croaks out a few words. 

“I-I’ve got three for three so far! You and Byleth, Lysithea and Cyril, Lorenz and Marianne!” Then she pats herself on the back, “I’m pretty good at this, if I do say so myself. My next targets are Leonie and Felix!” 

He rolls his eyes, “Out of all the things you could have motivated you to get off your lazy ass, it’s _ this? _ And since when were Lorenz and Marianne a thing? _ ” _He had to admit, he was impressed by the level of motivation she was placing on her own schemes, if anything.

He hears yet another tut, “For about a week, Claude. It would do the future king no good if he isn’t very observant, I’ll have you know.”

Claude jumps, well, he jumps as much as he can with a 2 tonne wyvern pinning him down. 

Lorenz walks in with a bundle of wheat in his hands. He appraises Claude and Hilda before sighing dramatically, “Do I want to know what sort of game you two are playing at?”

This time, it’s Hilda that rolls her eyes. 

“Lorenz! Get out, I’m having a very important discussion with Claude.”

“What are you even doing here?” Claude interjects.

Lorenz smiles and squares his shoulders as if he was waiting for someone to ask him that. 

“Ah, the venerable Marianne is currently slaving away in the kitchen to prepare a banquet fit to honour our hungry stomachs. As a gentleman, it was my duty to set forth and procure some wheat for her so that she may bake some bread fit to feed the Goddess on this auspicious evening.”

Claude quirks a brow, vaguely impressed that Lorenz was able to make ‘my girlfriend is making food and I’m helping her’ sound like a sprawling epic. His expression falters slightly knowing that Marianne must be cooking up a storm in order to distract herself from finding the bodies earlier.

The flamboyant nobleman continues, “I came to investigate this building because I thought I heard someone heaving their last breaths in a coughing fit,” He turns to Hilda, “but it would appear my fears were unfounded.” 

Now with two pairs of eyes on her, Hilda cowers slightly, pulling on her collar with a bashful smile. 

Claude huffs and Lorenz turns to face him again, “I’m impressed you managed to snag a woman, if anything. Though I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you got into cahoots with another noble rather than a commoner.” He says.

Lorenz narrows his eyes.

“How unseemly of you, Claude, you’ve been lacking quite a bit of your tact lately.” Claude grimaces at that, “If I cannot fight by the people's side, with commoners, and show the world we can truly work as one regardless of being born with a Crest or not, then I have failed not just as Gloucester, but as a gentleman.” 

That must be Lorenz’s verbose way of saying he doesn’t mind commoners as much anymore.

He continues, “I value the people of Fódlan and the Alliance higher than anything, Claude. I have been raised with the sole purpose of serving as their steward, and it is an obligation I plan on honouring until my body breathes its last regardless of whatever past prejudiced I may have harboured. It will always be prudent to remind oneself... just what it is one is fighting for.”

From the look of Lorenz’s face, Claude can tell he’s thinking of Marianne, that she’s the one he’s fighting for. 

Claude smiles, “Damn, where was this Lorenz when you were giving me ‘love’ advice? That was infinitely more useful and romantic than whatever nonsense you told me last time.”

Lorenz huffs a loud laugh, “Yes, well, I suppose I would rescind such… crude advice now. But I must go now, one does not earn their place in the heroic pantheon by dueling foreign nations on an empty stomach, hah!” He’s in the middle of turning around before he looks at Claude, and waves one of his hands in front of his face. 

“Claude. I do hope you’ll be bathing soon. You are quite… malodorous.” 

“You know you can just say I smell like shit, right?”

Lorenz gives a scandalous noise before waving his hand again and leaving. 

Claude knows he’s far from alone with Pruina and Hilda still in the same room, but he can’t help but feel alone in his thoughts. Thoughts that are thankfully not full of poison, but rather are… normal, this time. 

He can’t help but think about the war, and what it’s done to everyone and those around them. How it’s completely devastated countless people, there are innumerable more people like the owners of this farm out there, it rips lovers and families apart and will continue to do so even after it’s finished. It’s effects will last generations. How are people supposed to live meaningful lives in a world menaced by something as meaningless as war?

He thinks back to Lysithea and Cyril, to Lorenz and Marianne. They find meaning in this war in _ each other. _ They’re striving to survive and better themselves for _ each other. _ They want to live in a better world, for _ each other. _

He can already see the effects of their relationships just by looking at them. Both Lysithea and Cyril have more life in their eyes than ever before, having found another purpose and reason to keep fighting and living. With what little he sees of Marianne, since she’s often too busy treating the wounded, he can tell her confidence has grown exponentially. Lorenz’s own confidence in himself must have rubbed off on her, meanwhile Marianne’s humility and patience are traits that Lorenz has since adopted. They make each other better people.

He supposes love really is one of the strongest forces in the world, as corny as it may sound. 

He thinks back to his relationship with Byleth. He’s been riddled with nothing but anxiety and self-doubt for the past few days but he knows. He _ knows _he wants to find meaning in her as well. And for her to find meaning in him.

And he knows for that to happen that he has to _ talk _with her, properly this time. He may have been able to show how he felt through actions when he confessed, but he needs the power of words this time. And to talk with her this evening, rather than leaving it to tomorrow like he initially planned. He can’t let her suffer for his insecurities.

Hilda speaks up, and he can tell she’s talking through a grin, “Now that we’re free of his presence I _ was _ going to tell to get off your sorry butt to talk with Byleth. But I can tell from your face that you _ get it.” _She stands up and pats herself down, “Guess I didn’t need to cleave you half afterall. Goodbye Claude, and good luck.” She winks. 

“Hey,” he says through his own grin, “winking is my shtick.”

She leaves, and Claude feels a weight list off his chest. Both metaphorically and literally, because Pruina steps off of him. 

But the weight is replaced, because the wyvern nuzzles him with her nose, asking for pets. 

He huffs and obliges her.

He can at the very least give her a well-deserved petting session for forcing him to come here and finally see some sense.

It was only hours ago he had a panic attack, he isn't confident in himself to admit that fact out loud yet, but this whole… event with his own wyvern dragging him to the middle of nowhere to because Hilda made up some plot and is so invested in the relationships of other people is just so ridiculous.

He laughs.

It's a soft, small laugh but a laugh nonetheless. He feels as though he's been given that push he needs to sort this mess out. This was a better distraction than anything he could make up. It gave him the motivation, and… the reassurance that everything will be okay. Even his chat with Sylvain has helped build up his shattered confidence.

Once again, he owes his friends for helping him, even if their methods are a bit bizarre and unconventional.

But he finds he wouldn’t have it any other way.

\---

He’s told that Byleth is currently staying in one of the bedrooms in the main house and he steadily makes his way to his desired destination. He’s given the occasional glance and nod of acknowledgement from those on the patrol. He spots Sylvain hiding behind a wall in his periphery who gives him a thumbs up, only for him look to his side and drag Ashe out of his hiding spot, who also hesitantly gives him a thumbs up with a nervous smile. 

He doesn’t think either Hilda or Lorenz told them anything. Lorenz made a beeline for the kitchen and he knows Hilda is still in the barn with Pruina. They’re probably just trying to give him a thumbs up because he’s sure the news of Byleth being upset has reached the entire camp by now, and they want to support him in what they must think is a domestic dispute. 

Honestly, the Blue Lions and their antics will be the death of him. If his fellow Golden Deer don’t kill him first, that is.

He eventually makes it to the room, his footsteps creaking under the floorboards. The house itself is practically ancient, which caused Lysithea is complain incessantly about ghosts, especially since the recent tenants died. She and Cyril are camping outside in their own tent because of that, and Claude’s pretty sure more contraceptive herbs will be used tonight.

He stands in front of the door Byleth should be in, and he doesn’t bother trying to count in between his breaths. From the creaking she’ll know he’s standing outside, and staying there for an extended period of time would be… awkward. So he opens the door, which in turn makes an extraordinary amount of noise because of the fucking creaking. 

He looks around the room, all the portraits on the wall have been flipped around or taken down. The sooner he can forget they’re in a dead family’s house, the better. He’s not a very religious man, but he hopes the past tenants aren’t looking down on him disapprovingly in the afterlife.

Byleth is sitting on the bed, two plates of food on her lap. She looks overtaken by profound sadness, fatigue engraving on her worn face. Almost as if she’s a shell of a woman and Claude feels an intense bout of guilt hit him like a stampede of a herd of horses.

“Hey,” is all she says, her voice almost an inaudible whisper.

“Hey,” Claude echoes blankly as he closes the noisy door.

She puts one place of food next to her on the bed. It’s fresh bread with lamb and mashed potatoes. It smells delicious. Marianne was always a killer cook. 

“I didn’t think you’d want to eat with everyone, so I decided to get a plate for you too.” 

Leave it to Byleth to continue thinking about his comfort even after he ran away from her like she burned him. His guilt feels like it’s suffocating him. 

But he merely nods in response and sits down. They eat mostly in silence, the only noises filtering through being the house itself with its squeaks and groans. 

“How are you?” Byleth eventually asks after swallowing some of the mashed potatoes.

“Oh, I don’t know, having a panic attack because your lover thought you wanted sex makes a guy feel just peachy,” glancing at her even more miserable expression, he decides to drop the sarcasm. Again. That’s the second time today. This is playing a little too closely to their talk in the barn. So much for trying to instill humour in this conversation. 

He clears his throat, “It’s been a long day, but I’m better now. I swear it.” Better in the sense that he's not on the cusp of hyperventilating again, anyway.

She doesn’t look convinced, obviously wanting to know more but instead she wolfs down another spoonful of potatoes. 

They continue just eating, eventually finishing and setting their dishes to the side. It was an excellent meal, his stomach feeling warm and pleased. He’ll have to thank Marianne in person later. And Lorenz too. 

“I’m sorry,” Byleth suddenly says and Claude tenses his shoulders, “I should have been able to read that you didn’t want to have sex. It wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable.”

He blinks at her owlishly, he knows she wants to ask why he reacted so viscerally but she doesn’t. He swallows. 

“I know you want to ask me… things, so go ahead with your questions.” It comes out more snappish than he would have liked. 

She only gives him a sad smile in response, “I don’t want to force you into doing anything you’re uncomfortable with, and that includes talking about whatever’s been bothering you. I will wait for however long you’ll need. I want you to be able to trust me with these things.”

_ Look at you, _ it feels the noises of someone scratching on a chalkboard is invading his skull, _ she thinks you’re so weak that you’ll shatter like glass by just speaking. She’s made you so weak. _

Now his whole body tenses, and he can’t help but parrot his insidious thoughts, “Y-You think me so weak that I can’t handle _ talking?” _

Her expression changes to one of surprise and then worry, “N-No! I would never, you just look so uncomfortable—”

“Is this what this has been about?” he spits, “You break me down and then act as some sort of loving girlfriend?” 

So much for him gaining confidence before coming here, he can feel his composure and resolve rapidly falling apart and his heart rate accelerate tenfold. Suddenly, he felt trapped, stuck in a tiny box that was thrown into the rough sea.

_ She’s taken your command away from you and made you an obedient dog. She’s forced you to get aroused from the most humiliating of acts. You can’t be a leader like this. You should be ashamed. _

“Claude, what are you—”

“How could you recruit the Blue Lions right after they tried to kill us? Without consulting me? I’m the commander here, not you!”

Claude stands, and he's borderline shouting, and Byleth motions him to consider what hour it is. He speaks more in a whisper now, but his tone is no less frenzied.

_ Look at you, still following her orders, _the whisper cackles.

“Don’t—Don’t take my control from me, Byleth. I won’t let you any longer,” his breath increases and Claude has to make a conscious effort to not hyperventilate again.

Byleth responds with her own frenzied whispers, “They were your friends! My students! You honestly can’t expect I’d—”

“I don’t want to be manipulated!” That one was an unrepentant shout and the walls shake from the force. 

Seconds of agonizing blanketed the room and Claude feels like he was being smothered. When Byleth finally speaks, her voice quivers. 

“You… truly think I’m doing that?”

Claude’s hands twitch and he fidgets. His throat has tightened considerably and the next words are hard to get out.

“With the way you fucked me,” it comes out as a growl, “how can you not? Making me beg? To submit? To _ control _ me? My — My body hasn’t been the same since then, I don’t, I don’t even feel like I’m in the same body!” The last words come out as a cracked whimper and he hates, hates, _ hates _it. 

His vision goes blank and he’s in the same void he was in before he punched Sylvain. All Claude wants to do is just sink into the ground and disappear. 

_ Weakweakweakweakweak. _

He’s breathing heavily and he’s broken out of the void when he feels fingers lightly caress his face. 

Byleth only looks at him with eyes full of understanding and sympathy. 

_ Don’t let her control you. _

He should slap her hands away. He—He thinks he should. Yell and scream. Maybe even run away again. Run away and start over so that he isn’t being stifled, so he isn’t being _ controlled _so that he can regain what little power he had and—

“I’m sorry,” is all he hears and he simply finds his body rooted on the spot and unable to move, “This is all my fault. I should-I should have spoken with you properly. I made things move too quickly for you. _ I’m sorry.” _

He doesn’t know what it is about her apologizing, but he feels his body fall off the edge. He starts to sniffle, body wracking with frustration, so he brings his sleeve up to his mouth, biting the fabric to quiet the whimpers. Claude hates the sound of them, hates being reminded of all his faults and all his weaknesses. He knows he must look exceptionally pathetic.

His chest feels heavy.

He hiccups, and he knows he has to ask about that one insidious phrase that has been repeating itself in his head, embedding itself into his mind. 

“H-How could you,” he gulps heavily and tries to recompose himself but fails miserably. The word feels like shards of glass slowly dragging itself through his throat before he’s finally able to get it out, “_ degrade _m-me like that?”

His vision goes blurry as the tears finally fall from his eyes and he can’t stop himself from crying in earnest. His tears burst forth like water from a dam. His face is lowered down on her shoulder and his hands grasp at her clothing in a desperate attempt to steady himself. There is only static in his head, something of a reprieve from the constant whispers but he knows it’s the result from his continuous fear and stress. He can hear his own sounds, like a distressed child and raw from the inside. 

It takes something out of him that didn’t know he had left to give. His spirit now broken, he covers Byleth’s shoulder in his tears and snot.

And he cries for a long time.

And eventually, he feels something soft envelope him. He belatedly notes that he was guided to the bed and he’s lying it in now.

The world goes black, but it’s a comforting darkness. 

\---

When he awakes he’s covered in blankets. It’s soothing at first, but considering the amount of layers he’s actually wearing he begins to become sweaty. 

He fumbles for a bit before sitting up, and rubs his eyes with his hands. When he blinks the world into focus, a glass of water is handed to him. 

“Byleth,” he says, his voice dry. Had she been waiting for him to wake up this whole time?

She puts the glass to his lips, “Here, drink. You must be dehydrated.” 

He obliges and drink, finding he doesn’t have the strength to deny her. 

_ So weak from just crying. _

He winces but continues drinking, the water feeling like a great relief to his parched throat. When he’s done he wipes his lips with the back of his hand, and he quickly speaks before Byleth can say anything else. 

“I… Think I would like to have that bath now.”

Byleth looks somewhat surprised by the request, but nods in affirmation, “I’ll get the tub running. Luckily we won’t be needing to use the tankard of water we collected. Perks of using someone else’s house.” Her lips are quirked slightly upwards and Claude looks away shyly. 

The door creaks noisily, signifying her leaving. 

Left alone, Claude blows out a breath, “That didn’t go how I thought it was at all.” He gives himself a self-deprecating smile, “Good going, Claude. Nothing was resolved. Smooth.”

_ Weak and pathetic. _

He’s too exhausted to even react to that whisper, opting to simply sigh in response. After crying like that, maybe it was high time he merely accepted it as fact. That he wasn’t cut out for leadership if he can’t handle… whatever it is that’s happening between him and Byleth. Maybe he really was a failure. 

But the crying was… cathartic, in a way. Pent up emotions finally let out and released. Perhaps it’ll allow him to properly express himself now that he had gotten the harshest words out. 

He snorts, “Good luck trying to express yourself after that mess. So much for having a silver-tongue.”

He frowns. He can’t give up now. Not yet, anyway. Not after promising himself that this mess will get sorted. Claude von Riegen was a man that cleaned up after his messes. And this was a fine mess he started. He knows he can’t allow these whispers to continue dominating him. He clenches his fists and counts between his breaths again, seems like this will become a new habit of his. 

The door creaks open and Byleth peeks her head through, “The bath is ready,” she says, almost shyly.

\----

Claude stares at the water as if it personally insulted him. He gnaws at his bottom lip, internally cursing himself for his hesitation once more. 

_ You’d said you’d fix this. Get on with it. _

He blinks, that thought had none of the biting criticism and harsh words he’s grown accustomed to. It was _ actually _something he could call useful. It wasn’t even a callous whisper, but rather his normal speaking voice. 

Spurred on by his thoughts apparently being his own again, even if it’s for a moment, he turns to Byleth. 

He sees her gulp, “Well, I’ll, uh, go ahead and leave.”

“No!” he says before he can even stop himself, and he gulps himself, “You-You can stay. Please, stay.” 

He sees her smile softly and he doesn’t stop his own small smile from forming on his face. 

“Okay. I’ll wash your hair, then.” She says.

Alright. Certainly going better than before. 

Claude can feel the scarlet blush on his face and undoes his collar with shaking fingers. Then he removes his shirt with equally shaking fingers. He doesn’t look at Byleth, suddenly feel too shy which he chastises himself over. He doesn’t even know if she’s looking at him. 

Now fully naked, he realizes this is the first time he’s been naked in the same room as her since they first had sex. The thought makes him even more self-conscious and he screws his eyes tightly shut. He only opens them when he steadily moves into the tub. He exhales a pleased noise when he feels the warm water envelop him. 

He had forgotten how nice a bath can feel. 

Now sitting in the tub, and facing away from Byleth, he hears footsteps approaching him and gentle fingers caress his scalp. He unconsciously leans into them.

“I’m going to start washing you, okay?”

He grunts in response.

A silence falls on them. Again, he doesn't know how to broach the damn topic. He yelled at her. Yelled profanities. Why is she even still with him, washing his damn hair? He’s sure he’s done enough to tarnish their relationship. 

His anxiety begins to build in his body. It builds, and builds, and builds, and it almost feels like the world is disappearing, like he’s in that fucking black void again. 

Or maybe it’s him that’s fading away. He’s sure that’s what it probably looks to everyone else. 

His empty burning lungs and his heart hits his chest so hard he thinks it’ll break his ribs and break through his skin. His pulse presses outward and jerks the veins within. And the void. The black hole in his head, slowly swallows him—

Deceptively gentle arms hug him from behind, and Claude glumly notes she has bruises on both of her forearms. 

“Claude,” she whispers, and unlike the ones in his head hers is pleasant, “Deep breaths.”

It’s almost a command.

So he does what she says.

_ Dog. _

His breath hitches at that, but he’s able to eventually calm himself. He swallows heavily to make sure his voice is normal when he speaks, “Sorry.”

The arms around disappear from his vision and he feels Byleth continue to wet his hair and rub his scalp. 

“Mhm,” she murmurs, “You’ve nothing to apologize for. The fault lies with me.”

He can’t help but snort at that, “I’m the one who yelled and cried.” 

_ You’re so weak. _

“And I was the reason for that. I was hoping we could talk about that. About the first time we slept together.”

His jaw tenses and he takes the soap on the side to rub himself as a distraction. “I thought that…” he doesn’t finish that sentence, and it just ends in an incoherent mumble. 

“Thought what?” Byleth asks, and she pours shampoo in his hair, “That’d I’d be harsh, disdainful and chastising in your moment of vulnerability?” Her tone isn’t any of those, Claude would describe it more as careful and delicate. 

He can’t say anything to that, and nods.

The hands on his head stills, and he hears her shift to the side of the tub and cups his cheek with her shampoo soaked hands.

“Oh, Claude,” she croaks, “I’m sorry. _ I’m so sorry.” _She sounds like she’s on the cusp of crying and Claude hates that sound. He doesn’t want her to cry. Sadness doesn’t match her beautiful features.

His own throat constricts, “S-Sorry about what…?”

“I should have spoken to you. About what we did. I assumed you liked it, and that was my mistake. Assuming.” he sees her throat bob as she swallows, “I should have talked to you.”

Despite everything, despite him vehemently denying that he likes it in his head and his own internal monologue having done nothing but undermine him, he quickly turns to face her fully, causing the water in the tub to chaotically slosh and spill on the floor.

“I liked it,” he blurts out, surprising even himself. 

Byleth’s mouth opens, then closes. She seems at a loss for words, but her face tells him what she wants to ask — that she wants to mention the fact he yelled about his body no longer being the same. 

“I liked it,” he repeats, “I-I just… I’ve been—” the word is hard to get out, but it doesn’t quite feel like there’s glass in his throat this time, “self-conscious, I guess. I’ve just had these… These thoughts that said it was _ wrong _ and that you were controlling me and I was _ weak _and Sylvain and Ashe—”

He swallows, that was some word vomit he just spewed and he’s suddenly embarrassed in himself. He really wishes he could be more eloquent in these moments. He’s a goddamn _ man _ and the _ leader _of the Alliance he should be able to get the point across without sounding like a complete child—

“Sylvain and Ashe,” Byleth interrupts his thoughts, “I take it that they must have… made fun of you about it?” 

He nods, but he feels as though he should at least defend Sylvain despite what happened, “It was absolutely Sylvain’s fault, but he’s apologized.” He quirks a grin for what feels like the first time in a while, “He’ll be groveling a lot tomorrow. I’ll make sure Ashe joins him.”

She smiles too, a genuine smile and Claude’s grin grows. Her hands go back his hair and she continues washing him and her face grows more serious.

"I didn't know I had driven you to feel you needed to change yourself in any way." She leans in, their noses almost touching, "you're perfect the way you are, Claude."

His heart skips _ several _ beats at that, and when she moves away from him he submerges himself completely to wash the shampoo off. When he emerges from the water he tries to save face.

“But-but look at you. You’ve got the soul of progenitor god inside of you. Not to mention a-all the other nonsense happening. What right do I have? What right do I have to feel a little sorry for myself when you’ve got it much worse? This—This is so stupid—”

Her index finger taps his lips and he clamps his mouth shut. 

“This isn’t about me,” she says with probably more force than she meant to because next she softens her tone, “It’s about you. And I want to know exactly what you like during sex. It’s high time we talked about this, hmm? Are you comfortable with that?”

As comfortable as he’ll ever be, he muses. He nods. 

“Words, Claude. I need to hear your words.”

That _ really _shouldn’t make him feel as warm as it does. And the heat pooling his stomach isn’t from the water. 

“I-I... don’t really know that myself, honestly. Everything’s just been so confusing. My head’s just been a mess.” He thinks back to… a certain incident, “When I tried bandaging my hand, I got hard and-and I have no idea.”

The whisper doesn’t cause a barrage in his head, which confuses him but he can only assume it means the conversation is going well, despite the fact Byleth’s expression doesn’t change. 

His voice becomes frantic, “That’s not normal, is it? That can’t be normal? Who gets off on that, and on being _ degraded?” _Goddess, he hates that word. He’s heard it enough times over the past few days to last him a fucking lifetime. He can’t wait to completely throw it out of his vocabulary once this is over. 

Byleth hums, “Who’s to say what’s normal or not? Sex is more than just sticking a penis in a vagina.” Her finger trails across his chin and then down slowly down his neck, and Claude feels more warmth pool his stomach, “You were born as something with so many nerves and senses, as a being that can feel so many different forms of pleasure, don’t you think it would be a waste just to think sex is just one thing instead of many?”

He gulps, “A-And you? What do you like?”

Her finger continues to lazily trail his neck before leaving and he finds he misses the feeling, “Ah, I’m not sure I should answer. I don’t want to influence you." She says that, but Claude is certain she’s only interested in being the dominant partner in bed. Then, her expression becomes more serious.

"But I do want to make one thing clear," she says, "you are not any less of a man or a leader just because of what you do in bed. You being an exceptional leader and what you do during sex? Those have absolutely no correlation. And you’re hardly the only man who likes this sort of thing. Am I clear?" 

He swallows, but something in him feels warm. Warmer than before, almost like this affirmation is just what he needed but he still needs more. He looks her dead in the eye, “Do people like that? To be degraded?”

She simply tilts her head and gives an impish smile, “I know the type of erotica you read, Claude. What do you think the answer to that question is?”

He falls back slightly, feeling even more embarrassed than before. Now the heat floods his face. 

“But it’s all just a fantasy,” he mumbles, but he knows how silly it sounds. 

“And people like to act out fantasies. Some of the stuff people do is called roleplay. Sometimes people like pain,” that gets his attention and he looks back up at her, “Sometimes it’s about letting go of control and letting someone else take the lead for a short while. Sometimes it about taking that very control. But most of all it’s about the pleasure.” She leans in and Claude thinks she’s about to kiss him, and he doesn’t think twice about closing his eyes, and rather than a kiss she continues speaking and he knows their lips are mere centimetres apart. 

“Everyone’s pleasure is different,” her breath is warm against his skin, “And sex is about exploring that pleasure. Finding what works and what doesn’t. What did you like when we had sex, Claude? What didn’t work?”

He keeps his eyes shut for reasons he can’t explain, “I liked everything,” he says quickly, “I liked everything.” He repeats, then licks his lips, “I want to be good for you.”

_ Smooth. _

He inwardly smiles, at the very least he probably won’t be worrying about whispers invading his head for the time being. 

"Are you sure?" she continues to question.

"_Very."_

“And what of being the dominant partner, Claude?”

And after everything that’s happened, after the various bouts of _ many _instances of self-discovery he’s been having recently and even with the taunting whispers, he doesn’t need to think very hard about that. 

“I don’t think I’m interested in that.”

Her lips finally brush his, it’s a soft kiss — really, barely a kiss considering their lips just touch and nothing else, but Claude’s heart thunders in his chest all the same.

“Before we do anything again,” she says at their lips part and Claude’s eyes fly open in anticipation, “I want to establish a safeword.”

He blinks, he’s heard of that before. It was in some of his erotica but it was usually something he skimmed over to just get to the porn. 

She continues, “Something that if you say it, everything stops immediately and I take care of you.”

“And stop can’t work because…?”

She looks like she was expecting him to ask that, “Because sometimes stop and no don’t always mean what they mean in the heat of the moment. So, we need a word that wouldn’t be uttered during sex otherwise. You’ll understand in due time. Now, safeword?”

He blows a breath, “Uh, Judith?”

“Really, Claude?” She giggles.

He rubs his chin with his hand and closes his eyes as if deep in thought, “Gloucester.”

“Claude!” Now she laughs, and lightly slaps him, “That’s ridiculous.”

He shrugs, “And I can’t think of a word more perfect that’ll kill the mood.”

She snorts, then stands, “That’ll work for now, I suppose. I’m going to get your clothes, I’ll be right back.” Just when she moves past, Claude suddenly lurches forward to grasp her wrist, more water spilling on the floor. 

“I want to apologize,” she looks like she’s about to say that isn’t necessary again but he continues before she can get a word in, “For insinuating that you were manipulating me. Controlling me. Please, let me apologize for that much.”

She sighs through her nose, “Apology accepted. Don’t worry about it. I will make sure to consult you on matters concerning future recruits in the future, you have my word.”

But he doesn’t let her go.

“Claude?”

“Iwanttohavesexnow,” the words come out so quickly and even Claude isn’t entirely sure what he just said. But Byleth seems to have heard it perfectly as her cheeks flush lightly. 

She clears her throat, “Words, Claude.”

Now it’s him that clears his throat, “I-I want to have sex. Please, if that’s alright with you. I don’t care if I have to bath again, we can bathe together. Bathing is always better with a partner.”

She huffs a laugh and he lets go of her wrist. 

“Well, that’s as convincing of an argument if I’ve ever heard one. Are… you sure about doing it now?”

He pouts, “I’ve been having a hell of lot of long days recently and it’s been forever since we fucked. I’m _ very _sure I want to do it now.” 

Byleth gives him a more stern look and his cock twitches in the now lukewarm water, "Are you _absolutely _sure about that?"

A silence blankets over them, but not quite as suffocating as last time. She waits for him patiently, and he can tell by the understanding look in her eyes that whether he insists or not, she will not judge him.

“...Please,” he eventually says.

Her expression softens, and then she smiles dangerously as she gets into her role, “Good boy.” Claude inhales sharply at that and she continues, “You like being called that?”

“Yes,” he admitted. 

“You want me to keep calling you that?”

“_Yes,” _he rasps, and Byleth leans down to kiss the crown of his forehead and purred. 

“Get out of the tub, please.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, and gets out with more haste than what’s needed. There’s an awful lot of water on the floor and he tries to be as cautious and as fast as he can. 

He stands in front of her, his cock half-hard. He takes slow, measured breaths and keeps his arms to his side as Byleth appraised and started to circle him. She takes one finger and drags it from his shoulders to the strong, corded muscles of his back to his hip bones as she walks behind him. Eventually, her finger touches his ass, and her hand cups him. She gives each cheek a firm squeeze and Claude moans slightly, his whole fast flushed in a delicious red. 

Her hands still on his arse, she whispers in his ear.

“Tell me what you want, like the good boy you are.”

“I want you to fuck me.”

He gasps sharply at the sudden swat on his ass, Byleth had applied enough force to it that he knows there’s probably a light handprint forming on his skin. She pinches him and he whimpers at the sting. Her other hand that was firmly grasping his other cheek move smoothly up his back and grabs at his hair when her digits find its purchase, and she pulls back. He hisses at the pain and his cock is fully hard now, further twitching in excitement. 

It’s a pain he finds he relishes in. 

And now, he doesn’t feel like it’s wrong. Like the first time they slept together, it feels _ right. _

“Lie on the floor,” she whispers and lets go of him. 

Feeling spunkier than he has in weeks, he replies with a “Yes ma’am,” before lowering himself. He doesn’t miss how her grin has turned all teeth and he give special notice to how sharp her canines are and all he can think about is how much he wants those teeth to sink into him.

Now lying down, she leans over him, “You are a good boy, aren’t you?”

He nods, “For you, Teach? I’m the best.” Man, does it feel to have actual confidence back inside of him. Now he feels he can take on the world. 

“What’s your safeword?”

“Gloucester,” he breathes.

"And what happens after you say that?"

Now he’s getting slightly impatient, "You stop and take care of me, yeah?"

Her finger grazes his lips, and she plays with his bottom lip by brushing back and forth and tap at him idly. Eventually, she adds pressure and forces his lips apart as her fingers enters his mouth and he happily begins to suck and lick her digit. His tongue greedily laps at her and she pushes deeper into him, causing to gag slightly. Though that doesn’t stop him from continuing to lick. 

“Good boy,” and dammit the praise makes his cock feel even harder. 

_ Weak. She’s controlling you. You’re letting you degrade her. _

Somehow, thee whisper isn’t a thunderous force in his head this time. This time it’s an actual, proper whisper than can easily be lost in the cacophony of noise in the house. Easier to ignore. Easier to banish in the dark recesses of his mind. 

So _ what _ if he lets her degrade him? The key thing is that he’s _ letting _ her. He’s _ safe. _He _likes _it and it's nothing to be ashamed of. He can sleep with Byleth knowing she’d never do anything he’s actually uncomfortable with. All he needs is to utter a single word and everything stops.

_ You don’t think she’d actually stop, do you? _It bites at him, but so, so easy to ignore. He doesn't feel the same anxiety he had felt beforehand. The whisper... doesn't effect him now.

He doesn’t need to think about it. He knows she’d stop. Because he trusts her. 

Everything will stop in a single word.

If anything,_ he’s _ in control.

Byleth’s other hand reaches to his cock and his body jolts. His stomach is fiery puddle and everything she does makes him desperate for more, so he bucks into her hand. 

He didn’t realize he had closed his eyes when he hears a giggle above him, “So needy,” and he opens his eyes, seeing a sharp look in her gaze. Her grin turns almost feral when grips his cock harder as she pumps him, the finger in his mouth slipping out and coating his chin in his saliva, “How much does my good boy need me?”

Claude gasps and writhes, his hand gripping at air, “B-Byleth,” it had meant to come out a hiss, but rather it’s a low whine. 

She grips his neck, not tight enough to choke but enough to make his eyes flutter, “Say it, Claude.” Now that’s a _ command _if he’s ever heard one.

And good boys followed commands. 

He doesn't care if a whisper came and called him a dog. He'll be the best damn dog there ever was.

He rocked his hips up unwilling, whining helplessly, “P-Please…! Haah, I need you—!”

She hums at that, and lets go of his cock and neck, making him whine louder at the sudden loss of touch and sensation. 

Byleth stands, kicks off her boots, and quickly pulls down her shorts, stockings and underwear off in one motion. Seeing her lower half bared at him, Claude licks his lips and his cock leaks precum. He think she’s about to mount and ride him, but instead she kneels in front of him and her arms go under his knees and she makes him press his legs to his chest. He gives a cracked whimper at his new position, his cock and asshole in full display.

He had never felt so exposed. It was daunting yet so arousing at the same time.

Be he felt safe around Byleth, both here and last time they had sex. He trusted her. He could do this, submit to Byleth’s ministrations. Submit himself to this form of pleasure.

He had thought that giving up control meant giving up on his dream, but he knows that's wrong now. If anything, it's moments like these, of him breaking down his walls and allowing Byleth to lead him, makes him stronger. He doesn't need to be alone in his dream. He can achieve it with her, even if he’s a writhing, whining mess underneath her.

Byleth looks _ hungry _now, “Now this is a delicious sight. I could get used to this.”

_ And so could I. _

He’s positively gleeful from that thought, from a whisper in his head doesn’t make him feel as though he’s drowning underwater. 

She moves so that she’s almost sitting on his splayed thighs and she guides his aching cock to her entrance, before slowly allowing him inside of her. Claude had been looking intently at her, vaguely amazed by this position, but he throws his head back from feeling her warmth envelope him. Byleth holds onto his ankles like handles, and rolls her hips when Claude is fully sheathed in her. 

She bounces on him and Claude feels as though the air completely leaves his lungs on multiple occasions, causing him to pant and moan heavily. He _ really _ likes this position, his legs pushing onto his chest and him being completely wrecked underneath Byleth is _ divine. _

His hands try to touch what he can of Byleth but eventually he had one hand trying to rub her clit and the other pinching his own nipple. His balls slapping against her ass and her internal muscles clenching down on him, he feels an unbearable pressure build inside of him.

“Ah, hah — mmh… B-Byleth! I’m—!!”

A hand that was on his ankle comes down to grasp his neck again and Claude cums hard enough he thinks he sees stars. His toes curl as his orgasm ripped through him and he convulses his body violently as he empties himself side of Byleth. 

Once he was done, his body twitches at Byleth’s continuous movements, pushing into him with full force before she too stills and convulses with her own deep, guttural moan. She’s leaking a waterfall on him. 

Both finish orgasming and they pant heavily, bodies slicked with sweat. Claude’s gaze is clouded, hair a mess and drool dripping down his chin. Byleth still looks fully alert, but breathes as though she ran an entire marathon. She might as well, considering the pace she fucked him was unrelenting.

Now fully exhausted, Byleth climbs off of Claude and he legs fall limply back on the floor. She crawls on top of him and places her head on his broad chest as she lays down, but not before giving him a deep, messy kiss. Claude’s hand find purchase on her back and he lazily rubs circles against her skin. 

“Con-” he grunts, “Did you get contraceptives?”

She twirls a finger on his chest before flicking a finger against his nipple, making his body jerk. 

“Yes. I made sure to have my own stash in my room.” 

He snorts, “Ever the tactician, I see.”

Her finger goes back to twirling on his skin, “You know, you can always suggest doing something new or different.”

“What?” Claude asks, lifting his head in an attempt to look at her expression. 

“Like I said,” she says through a content sigh, “Sex is about exploring different things. If there’s anything you want to try out, we’ll try it out. Within reason, of course.”

He puts his head back on the ground, “Yeah? And what do you wanna try out?”

“You seemed to react well enough to being spanked,” she sounds so nonchalant about it, as if she's commenting on the weather.

Claude has to remember to breath after hearing that, and he nods his head before remembering she can’t see his head with her head lying on his chest. 

“Y-Yeah,” he stutters, “that’d be fun to try out, I think.” Then after some thought, he smirks to himself, “But I think I want to keep my own ideas to myself for now.”

Her finger stops its twirling, “How come?”

“Cause I wanna surprise you. Don’t you wanna walk in your room one day only to find me splayed on the bed? That sounds exciting.”

She imitates his snort and voice, “Ever the schemer, I see.”

They stay like that for a while longer, neither wanting to separate. It’s only when Claude thinks of something does he speak again.

“We fucked in a dead family’s home,” he says blankly.

Byleth lifts herself up to look at him, her expression showing an annoyed scowl, “Really, Claude? You’re going to say that _ now? _” She flicks a finger at his forehead.

“I’m sorry!” he splutters, suddenly wanting to feel her body lie against him again, “Let’s just keep cuddling and ignore that! Think happy thoughts, like the image of Sylvain groveling tomorrow. I want front row seats to that.”

Byleth rolls her eyes, but obliges him and lays back down on him as they continue to cuddle, her arms now snaking around his waist. 

Realistically, this stretch of land was no more or less safe than any other. It was a desolate farm land that could still continue to be the target of bandits and other forces. But… here in her arms… he feels like the arrows and blades of the Imperial army can't hit him. Her face is usually so cold but she's warm. If he had to kill for this warmth, he think he just might.

He feels safe.

He can't help but feel exceptionally silly after everything's that happened. Having allowed himself to sink that low and become that self-conscious when everything was resolved after just speaking with her. But he knows Byleth would disagree with that sentiment, and assure him it was _ okay. _He doesn't know if those intrusive thoughts have been permanently banished, but he knows they will not affect them like they have in the future. He would set himself right. His friends would set him right. _She_ would set him right. He feels like she'll be setting him right a great many times in the future for a great many things.

She's exactly the sort of person he wants protecting him. Guiding him. Exactly… the type of person he wants in his life.

She doesn't have a pulse. But he'll breathe for the both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the conflict wasn't solved too quickly blblblbllb (,,꒪꒫꒪,,) but I didn't know how to continue it lmfao. 
> 
> Now here's your regularly scheduled "pls comment so I have validation." Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> If you happen to get an idea/prompt for a potential fourth chapter, even if it's just a short epilogue, I'm all ears! I'm all ears to prompts in general. :))


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